


In the Blood - An Eric Northman/OFC story.

by darklydeliciousdesires



Category: True Blood (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 79,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25839778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklydeliciousdesires/pseuds/darklydeliciousdesires
Summary: Godric is gone, leaving a bereft Eric with a cryptic letter, a new bookkeeper at Fangtasia and a hell of a lot of unanswered questions, which will lead to the unravelling of a secret the ancient vampire protected with his life, to eventually ensure Eric's enduring happiness.Story is pre-written and regular updates will be given if such are warranted. Warnings are for occorences much later within the story, which I shall warn at the start of those particular chapters featuring mentions of violence and rape, so anyone triggered by reading such material may skip past.Please also note that if any parts of this seem dated, it is because I originally wrote this over ten years ago! It follows the plot of season two in parts as well.Comments are very welcome! It brings me such joy to hear from my readers.
Relationships: Eric Northman/OC, Eric Northman/OFC
Comments: 14
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Eric’s POV.**

_‘Eric, my precious child,_  
  


_As you read this, you will no doubt be dealing with the fact I am no more. I do hope the loss you feel is not too great a burden to bear, just know in some small way I shall always be with you. Now, onto some business that must be attended to._

_I have fired Dianne on your behalf. You mustn’t reinstate her under your employment. I cannot be more emphatic when I state that you must not let go of her replacement or allow her leave under any circumstances. Those are orders I command you to obey, even in my true death._

_I cannot be more explicit, or firmer, when I tell you her replacement will do the job just fine. She is beyond perfect for you, Eric. Take that however you will, but remember it, too. Your new bookkeeper is more valuable to you than you realise right now. Heed my words.’_

_Godric._

“You leave me after a thousand years, Godric, and all I get is a cryptic note about a new fucking bookkeeper? You are absolutely astounding.” I whisper to myself, frowning down at the letter my maker posted to me, which I found amongst the rest of the mail in the office of my bar, Fangtasia.

I did wonder why Dianne wasn’t down here looking over the books when I arrived. Normally she’d just be finishing up, efficient as she is. Or rather was, since Godric took it upon himself to fire her for me, for a reason that I confess to be a complete mystery to me.

Now, of course, I cannot even broach the subject with him, sit down and ask him why he felt it so important to do the hiring and the firing of my staff for me, since just three mornings ago he decided to see his last sunrise, his body burning away to nothing.

I pleaded with him not to, tried to make him see how much I still needed him as his progeny, but alas my words were to no avail. His mind was made up. 2,000 plus years was enough for him, it would seem. The very thought of an existence without my beloved maker drove me to the same decision as he, to burn by his side in the light of dawn

If only he hadn’t have commanded me to leave, let him see his last sunrise without me by his side. I’ve never been much the type to let my emotions be stirred so heavily, but I cried for him on that roof, my blood tears shed for the first time in hundreds of years. It comforts me only slightly that he did have company in the end, he didn’t leave this realm alone.

Sookie Stackhouse stayed with him, perhaps the one human person (of sorts) I can actually tolerate in my company for more time than it would take me to fuck or kill her. The two things all humans are ever good for, if you ask me. It still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, my maker’s affection for them.

Back to my pondering, though. Why on earth did he fire Dianne? Perhaps the most reliable person I’ve ever met with figures, who looked after my business so well? I find it most baffling, as to why he saw it fit to release a woman so astute at keeping all my affairs in order with the kind of efficient finesse she possessed. What fault could he have possibly found with her?

Normally, anyone else pushing their nose into my business affairs would receive the kind of lambasting which would lead to nothing but their regret, but Godric is (was) my maker, after all. It goes without saying he was of course an exception to that. Not only that, but he’s gone, so I couldn’t even unleash my wrath should it be an appropriate reaction.

Simply, I must trust him on this and assume the reason behind Dianne’s dismissal was as crucial as he states, the same as not allowing the completely unknown bookkeeper hired to replace her to leave, whatever the circumstance. I will settle on the fact that whatever reasons he may have had for this cryptic behaviour, they are all in my best interests.

As my maker all he’s ever wanted for me is the best, so through confusion and unanswered questions, I must go along with it. I don’t honestly have a choice not to, do I? I have absolutely no idea what chain of events lies ahead, nor what I could perhaps be scuppering if I attempted to get this situation back under my complete control.

“Where’s Dianne? I brought these down for her to sort out into some kind of legible order. Fucking Kerstin couldn’t organise credit card payments by date order if it killed her, hell I’ve threatened her with that enough times by now, too,” Pam fumes as she comes into my office, without knocking. If the door is closed, I expect it to be knocked. Even though as my own progeny she’s been with me for over a hundred years now, I still command the same level of respect.

“Firstly, Pam, you know better than not to knock upon my closed office door by now. Secondly, if anyone is going to hand out threats over a human’s mortality it’s me, not you. Thirdly, Dianne won’t be coming back, she’s been fired,” I inform her as I sit behind my desk, opening the draw and sliding Godric’s note inside.

“Am I allowed to ask you fired her?” she drawls, sarcasm dripping from her words. It does little else other than amuse me. Even when it’s directed at me, her sass is entertaining since so few are brave enough to have a little verbal bite where I’m concerned.

“Yes, you are, but I was not the one to fire her. Godric did, so good luck to you if you want to inquire with him as to why.” I reply, with more sarcasm than she could ever muster as I stand before moving rapidly out of my office and downstairs, through the small, darkened staircase and back down to the confines of my underground home below the bar.

I have a huge, open plan apartment that never sees daylight thanks to the fact its sub-terrain. It is the perfect dwelling for a vampire, hence why I decided to make it my home back when I first bought the property.

It’s silent down here, which is what I am in the need of more than anything at this present time, silence, a few hours of solitude before I must head back upstairs to become the focal point for the Fangtasia patrons. I confess, I do not feel myself at present and furthermore, I don’t expect to for a while to come after the events which have unfolded.

I arrived home from Dallas just forty eight hours ago and once inside the safety of the club and its blinded windows, I awoke a little early to climb out of the coffin I traveled in on the plane and stood there, taking in the front door, flooded with temptation to swing it open and walk out into the fading daylight.

I stood until there was no light left, in fact, weighing up the options on offer to me. Stay, or follow my maker. I could have broken a chair and staked myself just as easily as offering my body to the sun. The pain of losing Godric is the closest thing that has brought me back to feeling human for the first time in a thousand years. I don’t care for it at all. Not one ounce.

In the end, I deduced that I am strong enough to stand alone without Godric. It doesn’t mean I want to, though. It becomes a point of bother, a little prickle within my mind that I know will keep me awake in the days to come. Unfortunately, insomnia isn’t solely a human affliction. If we’re troubled, we suffer it, too. 

One cannot just cast away the last one thousand years and everything you shared with the vampire who became a father to you in just the blink of an eye, or the splash of a bloody tear. Father. Brother. Son. I will miss him greatly, this much is very true. I shall miss his guidance, company and wisdom. Most of all I shall miss the simple things, like being able to ask him why he fired my bookkeeper.

No matter what I profess, I think this is also going to bother me for a while yet. Well, why not? If I’m going to be troubled, it might as well be by more weight than I care to carry.

**Tyra’s POV.**

“Hey, Sam. Here you go. Last month’s lot done and dusted,” I say to Sam Merlotte as I sit on a high stool at the bar of his establishment.

“Thanks, Tyra.” He replies, just as shyly and quickly as usual as he takes the box file off the bar from where I slid it to him and hurries off. Some prefer their accounts done via computer and some stick with tradition and keep actual books. Sam is the latter. I don’t mind which method so long as I’m getting paid.

“Evening, hon!” Sookie chirps cheerfully, moving in to pass me a menu with her usual cheery smile firmly in place. We’ve known each other since school (I was two years above her) but have only really talked on a casual, friendly basis since I started doing the books for Merlotte’s a year ago, about the time she began dating local vampire, Bill Compton.

“Is he always going to act like that?” I question, jerking my thumb in the direction Sam just did about 30mph in.

“He still maintains that for some reason you make him feel nervous. I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s a crush and he just don’t wanna tell nobody. That’s what Lafayette has always said anyways,” she replies. “You look tired, doll. All work and no play, huh?”

“That sums it up nicely, Sook. I’m so busy right now, I’m barely managing five hours sleep of sleep a night. This face, this face here is down to Christian Dior, not because I’m following a particularly healthy sleep schedule,” I chuckle, pointing at my immaculate face (because it can’t be anything but right now, I’m so tired I look deader than her other half underneath it) and then rest my head down on the bar, making pretend and loud snoring noises while she just laughs and shakes her head warmly.

“Oh, you silly thing. You do make me giggle. So, what are you having other than a coffee, sweetie?” She asks, while I peruse the menu briefly.

“I’ll take the hamburger deluxe with coleslaw and home fries, please,” I decide, watching her scribble down the order.

“Coming right up.” Dotting her pad with the pencil she holds, she grins and turns to sashay over to the kitchen, passing Lafayette the order.

“Hey, ice princess,” he calls in his usual slow, deliberate drawl, waving at me, his bangles tinkling.

“Hey, big poppa.” I reply warmly, waving back and smiling. Ice princess, he makes me laugh. He calls me that because I have blue eyes and very pale blonde hair, thus prompting his initial statement that I look 'like you live in a glacier’, as he put it when we first met.

I guess I do stick out a little around here. I think most Swedish people do in the Deep South, even though I’ve lived here since I was four. My accent still lingers just a little in with the dulcet southern tones too, especially since English wasn’t my first language. Bon Temps has been home for longer than Sweden was, though.

It’s familiar and lovely and just what I stated it to be. Home. The physical representation of the word is a place I cannot wait to drag my weary ass back to a little later, after I’ve eaten and unwound a little. It’s been a long, tiring day.

The one-bedroom house out in the woods (in very close proximity to Lafayette’s place too, just across the road down by the lake) was my first big purchase after setting up my own accounts firm. It’s just me as a one-woman operation working out of a small office at home, or at clients’ premises, whichever is most convenient for them.

The only clients who seem to have a problem with me going off-premises at present are my vampire customers, since most of them are under examination by the IRS. I have many keen eyes kept on me by the undead. In fact, they make up two thirds of my business right now because of that.

Tomorrow I take on another one, starting my first day of taking up the reins of the bookwork for a vampire bar in nearby Shreveport. A vampire named Eric Northman owns the place, but it was an associate of his with a strangely familiar voice who contacted me about the position and between us, we arranged for me to start tomorrow, rather than the man himself.

“One hamburger deluxe. Enjoy, darlin.” Sookie says warmly as she places my order down on the table, refilling my coffee from the almost empty pot in her hand before bustling away with a smile once more. Finally, I get to happily dig in to the first meal I’ve eaten since my Raisin Bran and fruit at 7am.

Yeah, I know. I work too damn hard and don’t take enough time for myself. Story of my life, really. It’s something my adoptive mother and father instilled in me from an early age, the value of a hard day’s work and I’ve never forgotten it. So much so my hard day’s work often leads into the night, but not tonight, oh no!

Tonight, I’m going to go from here and drive my overtired, overworked ass right on home and throw it into a luxuriously bubble laden bath. Speaking of my parents, when I do finally arrive back at my humble abode just over forty-five minutes later, I find a box waiting for me on the porch.

_'I did hope I might have caught you at home, I’m starting to forget what you look like these days! Pop your head around our door to remind your mother and I what our only child looks like, and enjoy these, fresh from the patch._  
_Daddy x’_

I smile fondly and with sad humour as I read my fathers’ note to me, feeling a little guilty that I haven’t been to see him and mom in two weeks now. When my own mother died, I really fell on my feet when I was placed into their care as a scared six-year-old child, still wondering when she was going to see her mother again.

I didn’t quite understand what it meant when the foster family who had previously cared for me in the weeks following her murder told me 'your mommy died, it means you can’t see her again.’ Mom and dad gave me a much better understanding of what death was in the most simplistic way that my infant mind was able to process.

They have loved me and raised me as theirs without question, to them I’m the only daughter they’ll ever know, but also, they perfectly understood that they weren’t the only parents _I_ had known. That’s the reason they didn’t get angry or upset when a few years later, I decided not to take their family name of Jameson, wanting to stick with my mother’s family name, Boden.

I’m still very much loyal to my Swedish heritage in that respect. I love my mom and dad even more for understanding that, respecting that I wanted to carry my family name still and not let this particular line of the Boden clan die out. We’re of a very old lineage, apparently. I don’t remember my home country, sadly, since I was just a baby when we moved here.

I sadly never knew my real father, either, who died in a boating accident just eight weeks before I was born. My biological mother, as I alluded to, I only knew for six years, until she was murdered by an assailant who was never caught. It remains unknown as to why she was targeted. They just broke into our home, broke her neck and left her there for dead on the kitchen floor.

It took me a long, long time to get over her murder. No child should ever have to go through that, losing their parents at such a tender age. However, the loving care of Joyce and Albert Jameson guaranteed I turned out a good kid after such a sad start in life. They shaped me into the person I know would make my real mother and father very proud.

After putting the box of vegetables in the kitchen and pouring myself a large glass of red wine, I drop my bag and jacket down on the couch, pulling out my cell and switching it off, popping it back in my bag and heading off into the bathroom. My tub calls me.

I sink my weary body happily into the hot water just over ten minutes later, the sounds of black metal band Emperor filtering through my stereo speakers after I hooked up my iPod while the bath water ran.

Some think I’m strange for finding such raw and dark music soothing, but I always find beauty in chaos. Their music is quite chaotic, I suppose you could say, like a lot of my other musical preferences as well. I like aggression, I find something about it desirable. I’m strange like that, I guess.

Lying back in the hot water as the music continues to drift in through the open bathroom door, I feel myself begin to really unwind, so much so that decide to set my glass down carefully on the side of the tub, just in case I do fall asleep. I’d rather not wake up to the sound of a glass shattering off the tiled floor.

As predicted, just a few more gulps of my wine and a couple more songs later and I drift off to sleep, my heavy eyelids no longer able to keep themselves open and fluttering shut, not to open again for an hour when I wake to find myself lying in a very, very cold bath full of water.

After draining and then cleaning the bath tub, I pick up my glass and take it out with me, placing it into the sink and pouring a glass of water that I take to bed once I’ve double checked all the windows and doors are locked.

Padding through to my bedroom, I indulge in my awful habit of leaving my towels slung over my bedroom door to dry, blasting my hair with the hairdryer and braiding it back before moisturising and crawling under the covers. Ahh, much better.

“I promise I’ll sleep until at least nine in the morning. I know what you’re thinking and you’re right, I do work too hard. That new client I’m doing the books for has instructed I arrive after sun down, so I don’t have to be there until 5pm either. I’ll actually do a little relaxing tomorrow around work, I promise you I will. Wherever you are, I know you still worry. I can feel it somehow.” I say out loud as I talk to the photograph of my beautiful mother, pride of place on my nightstand in an ornate, white frame.

I always talk to her, usually at the start and end of each day, something my adoptive mom encouraged me to do from an early age. She and dad always wanted me to remember her, for her to be present in my heart and thoughts, although she was gone from my life.

“Goodnight, mom. I love you.” I mutter, reaching to stroke her image with my thumb before turning over and getting comfortable, stocking up on all the sleep I’ll need for the day ahead.

“Shit, shit, shit! You are a useless piece of rubbish!” I scream with annoyance as I run across my house the next day at 4:25pm, flinging my broken watch down on the couch, just over thirty minutes before I have to be in Shreveport to start work with my new client. 

I’ve been out enjoying a nice long afternoon jog, but now unless I move at the speed my new client possesses (vampires move faster than our eyes can detect, of course) I’m going to be running very late to get there for 5pm as instructed.

My watch decided to break down on me at 3:30pm, only realising the actual time when I looked up at my old mantle clock upon my return home. Luckily, my hair is done already, all I have to do is brush it after taking a speedy shower. I’ll do my makeup when I hit the inevitable traffic leading into Shreveport. I don’t wear much anyway.

I’m just patting a little blush onto my cheeks when the traffic begins to move again at 4:55pm, my Sat Nav system directing me to the road the bar leads off, being able to see Fangtasia come into sight as I round the corner and slow down to pull into the parking lot. I know, Shreveport isn’t a million miles away from Bon Temps, but I’m useless with maps and road signs, utterly useless. I need a voice telling me 'turn left, take the next exit on the right, stay in the middle lane’ etc, etc.

Opening my car door I pull my long, wool coat around me more to keep out the January cold, walking over to the main doors through the newly cast down darkness as quickly as I can even though I’m actually a little bit early, knocking them once I get there. The bar itself is huge, a big corrugated iron building that stretches at least fifty to sixty feet back from its much narrower frontage.

“We don’t open for another hour, unless you’re our new bookkeeper?” An immaculately dressed, female vampire in leather pants and a long sleeve, tight pink sweater and perfect makeup says to me once she’s pulled the heavy door open.

“Yes, Tyra Boden. Pleased to meet you,” I reply in introduction, offering my hand. She stares at it for a few moments before deciding to shake it, smiling thinly.

“Pamela, but you can call me Pam. Follow me, please. I must say those pumps are to die for. If I wasn’t dead already,” she comments, suddenly looking down at my feet and then back up at me with another quick flicker of a smile. Vampires aren’t overly friendly, but they’re certainly not as aggressive or sullen as many people would have you think. This particular one certainly has a good eye for shoes if nothing else.

“Thank you. Manolo Blahnik is my drug of choice,” I joke, walking along behind her as she leads me through the club and over to a black painted door, opening it to reveal an office within.

'Okay, so I know you’re likely no rookie at this, but basically Eric likes his affairs kept in meticulous order. This means he requires his bookkeeper here for two days a week to deal with all the accounts, make sure everything is as I just stated, meticulous. He’s very, very fussy with his finances and his business, so just be warned there.

“Right, well there’s the computer as you can see, feel free to use it of course and the box file on the desk of the last two weeks’ books. I took the liberty of at least trying to organise the last fourteen days of card receipts into some sort of logical order, since one of our bar tenders just cannot get her brain in gear for long enough to do it correctly. Enjoy.”

I receive another half-smile from her shiny, pink glossed lips before she turns on her heel to leave. “Eric will be around at some point in the next hour, so he’ll come and introduce himself then.” Her words of parting are delivered just before the door swings shut behind her, leaving me to sit and rifle through the card slips, figuring I should begin this arduous task of arranging them into date order as soon as I can.

Honestly, how difficult is it to lay down all the receipts atop one another in a designated space in the register and then staple them together at the end of each night? Very difficult, if disgust in Pam’s voice as she spoke of the girl who’d messed them up is anything to go by.

Organising the receipts into date order quickly, I then tally them into the spreadsheet I have opened on the computer, hooking up my external hard drive so I can keep a record of Fangtasia’s accounts for myself too. It’s always safer to back up than risk your client losing all of your files if their machine suffers a blip.

I learned at the hard way as a rookie bookkeeper many years ago, which got me fired from my first job and gave me the determination I needed never to make that mistake again. Also, it gave me the push to decide to go it alone and start up my own business. I decided quite quickly that the only person I like being the boss of me is myself.

After entering all the figures I need to begin the sums to balance it up, I open the box file and begin to pull out all the invoices and enter those in date order too, working away quickly and efficiently as I feel everything starting to make sense. I like that about my work, when the numbers all add up. It’s when they don’t tally that the problems begin.

“You must be Tyra Boden. Eric Northman.” I suddenly hear in introduction, my head snapping up and eyes fixing on my new client, who happens to be the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my entire life.

Fuck, I wasn’t expecting someone so handsome, someone who makes my breath catch in my throat like it’s been gripped by an iron fist. Forget numbers that won’t tally, I think this is where a problem could possibly arise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Eric’s POV**

“Pleased to meet you. Do you prefer Eric, or Mr Northman?” she replies curtly, her full lips curving into a small smile. I’m not ashamed to admit it, but looking at her mouth, I’m already imagining how those plush, warm lips would feel wrapped around my cock. My new bookkeeper is staggeringly attractive. 

“Eric will suffice just fine, not that you’ll see me often enough to warrant using it much,” I reply, a small amount of me impressed at her courtesy to actually ask how I like to be addressed and the rest, trying to remember where I’ve seen her before. I recognise her, but I cannot immediately place where from.

I have to have seen her before, she looks so familiar. More strangely to me, though, is that she feels familiar too, which is the oddest thing. There is an instant familiarity regarding her name, though, since Boden was my mothers’ family name, but it isn’t that. It’s something else. If she wasn’t looking at me like she doesn’t know me at all right now, I’d say I’d probably fucked her at some point, but trying to go down that road is useless. 

At my age, I’ve gone through a hell of a lot of women, somewhere in the six figure mark, I’d imagine, if I even cared to count. Still, though, she’s familiar for some reason and I am yet to work out how and why. This displeases me. 

“Well, for someone who I won’t see very much of, you sure do hang around,” she comments lightly, looking up at me with an entertained smirk, her observation humouring me a little. She’s right, I suppose.

“I shall leave you to your work then, Miss Boden, which incidentally is how I’d prefer to address you.” I end our introduction with a small nod, leaving the room and moving through the bar rapidly to take my seat in my usual place centre stage, scanning the room and watching every single pair of eyes fall right on me, just where they belong.

As I cast my gaze across the floor of my bar, nothing manages to stimulate my brain or sway my arduous train of thoughts away from trying to remember where I’ve seen that woman before. 

I’ve had my fill of cheap, forgettable whores who grovel at my feet and beg for me to either bite them or impale them on my cock, but she just isn’t one of them. I remember women of a certain calibre, fancily dressed, well groomed, expensively perfumed, all of which she is. 

Casting my mind back to Godric’s letter, I once again remember the key points in that I must not fire her or let her leave and that she is more valuable to me than I realise. Did he know something about an IRS investigation that I don’t? That would explain perhaps him cryptically telling me he’s leaving me a top notch bookkeeper, but that doesn’t explain why he fired the existing one, who was more than adequate, or why her replacement feels so familiar to me.

“So, have you met your new bookkeeper?” I hear Pam ask from behind me, turning my head slowly to see her walk around and stand to my side.

“Indeed, I have,” I inform her, giving a small nod of recognition to an associate of mine who has just arrived over at the bar.

“What did you think?” she then asks.

“Should there be something in particular to think, Pam?” I question, raising an eyebrow at her.

“She’s got a damn nice ass for one thing,” she shares, while obviously picturing it in her mind, judging by the sudden lascivious grin on her face.

“Well, I couldn’t very well notice that when she was sitting on it, could I?” I reply slowly, watching her pull a small face that says ‘ah, see your point’ before she heads back off to the entrance, back to greeting and carding the patrons. 

At just gone 7pm, when Tyra walks back through the bar from the office, I cannot help but notice what Pam did earlier this evening, with much keener interest than anything else that’s caught my eye recently, too. 

The sight of that firm, rounded ass, swathed in the black fabric of the knee length tight skirt she’s wearing is mouth-watering to behold, the skirt also clinging to legs like shrink wrap over a hot, curved surface. She prowls, a feline glide that has me enchanted as I take her in, her form exquisite. She’s a very well put together woman. 

I watch her intently as she crosses the bar and makes her way to the door, until she begins to slow down that sensual, deliberate-yet-delicate walk, coming to a stop and turning to look at me, the very affect I desired. With a quick curl of my finger in her direction, I summon her over to me, once again feeling myself become slightly hypnotised by watching the way she moves. There’s something very ethereal about it, about her.

“So, I take it everything was in order, figure wise?” I ask when she arrives in front of me. The only figure truly of interest to me at this precise moment is hers, though. 

“Yes, all apart from your invoices for spirits which, for some obscure reason just will not tally up. I planned on coming in earlier tomorrow to give myself a little more time going over them, could someone human be here to let me in say, an hour earlier? The associate of yours who hired me on your behalf told me this would be two days a week arrangement,” she replies, adjusting the strap of the large bag she carries on her shoulder as she looks down at me without even a flicker of, well, anything. 

It’s like who I am and what I represent means absolutely nothing to her. I’m not sure if I like that. I’m used to adoration and adulation, not indifference and nonchalance.

“Well, at least Godric didn’t leave one of us totally in the dark,” I mutter in reply, more to myself than her.

“Godric? Wow, I haven’t heard that name in a very, very long time,” she then replies, making my head snap back up, eyeing her with acute interest. She knew Godric? It isn’t an especially common name, although of course she could mean another of the same name and it be pure coincidence. 

“I beg your pardon?” I spit sharply.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I had an imaginary friend named Godric when I was a little girl.” She reveals, smiling timidly and waving her hand in a dismissive way.

“How…sweet of you,” I begin condescendingly, amused by such a pitiful memory. Was she not able to make any real friends? “I’ll see to it that someone is here at 4pm to let you in tomorrow.” I then add, my attention turning to the woman I’m approached by with something of greater interest to me. Her neck. I invite her onto my lap, moving her curtain of obsidian curls, ready to feed upon her until I notice my bookkeeper still standing there. 

“You may depart now, Miss Boden.” I instruct, smiling wickedly at her before sinking my teeth into the raven-haired woman’s neck, hearing her high heels tap across the floor as she walks away. Not only do I hear it, I feel it as well, like she’s taking a huge part of the energy from the room with her. No mere human has ever had that effect upon me.

“Who are you? More importantly, what are you?” I whisper as soon as I’ve finished feeding.

“I’m Tiffany. What I am is hot for you,” the woman sitting on my lap purrs seductively, trying her very best to sound sexy. Ladies, desperation is never sexy. Not to a regular man and certainly not to a vampire either. Take note.

“Not you, dear.” I sigh, pushing her off unceremoniously and rolling my eyes. She takes this as her hint to leave me be, scuttling off the stage with an unimpressed pout. You’d be surprised at how many breathers still hang around after I’m done with them. What could be blunter than evicting them from my personal space in such a way? Humans are tragic. 

Well, most are. Then there are those whom excite me, those like Tyra Boden, all with just the way she moved across the bar. If that’s what she could stir in my loins by just watching her walk, what on earth must she be like in bed? Just wondering makes a pleasant shiver run through me.

I think I need a distraction, an activity to occupy my mind over why there’s something about that powerfully draws me in and more pressingly, why Godric sent her to me in the first fucking place. 

Looking back out over the bar, I attract Kerstin’s attention, the useless, clumsy human I begrudgingly employ (she does have her uses, but they all revolve around what she can do for me rather than what she can do for my bar, which isn’t a lot) and then sit back and watch her walk over to me.

“You need to be here early tomorrow, three forty-five at the very latest to let the bookkeeper in. If you’re a very, very good girl for the rest of the night, I’ll see to it that you receive a worthy incentive,” I tell her, watching her mouth curl into a smile before she gives me a fleeting wink.

“You got it, boss.” She assures me, before I wave her away and turn my focus elsewhere. You have to be something extraordinary to hold my attention for longer than five minutes if you’re a human, which leads me to make a growl of frustrated displeasure when I see the clock and realise that Tyra girl has been on my mind for the last twenty. Fuck. Pull yourself together, Eric. 

**Tyra’s POV.**

I have to confess something. I really am truly and genuinely shocked at myself right now. Well, rather myself a couple of hours ago when I first laid eyes upon my new client. I’ll be the first to say it, I’ve never, ever thought of vampires to be attractive. I mean they’re dead for a start. A stone cold, nocturnal predator does nothing for me usually, but Eric? My lord, that man is divine.

However, I don’t want him, no matter how attractive he might be. The aforementioned reasons given mean that I shan’t lust after him. As well as the fact that I’ve always had the sense never to mix business with pleasure, I definitely do not plan to start now either, no matter how devastating he is. 

He really does think a hell of a lot of himself, too. Arrogance has never been a turn on to me, not at all. It amuses me more than anything. I’d usually pin it down to a fierce, deep rooted insecurity, but that vampire is far from insecure. I got that impression very quickly, right off the bat, in fact. Oh no, his arrogance is completely justified, he does look good enough to eat, after all, but the fact that he eats us (or rather our blood) is really no turn on for me.

When they first came out of the coffin four years ago, I was as curious as the next person over their existence, but unlike the many fang bangers out there, I have no desire to be bitten by one. I’m not prejudiced, I just don’t find dead appealing.

Arriving home at just gone seven forty-five, I dump my stuff and strip off my skirt and shirt, throwing the latter in the wash and deciding the skirt is good for another wear at some point, folding it and hanging it back in my closet and pulling my workout clothes out. I dress and then head to my office, where I’ll likely spend way too long engrossed in numbers on a screen. I know, I’m a slave to my career. 

“Oh no, you fell again did you, pretty lady?” I mutter to my huge African tribal mask, a female fertility symbol that I spent a hell of a lot of money on just a few months ago, money I won’t see back if she falls off the wall again and breaks. Mental note, buy a better fixing for the wall.

It’s supposed to be suspended from the ceiling to walk underneath of, to allegedly rain down energies onto the women of the house she’s kept in and ensure their wombs are forever healthy and fruitful. I bought it because I thought it was unusual and beautiful, not because I want a fruitful womb. 

The idea of having children makes my skin crawl, I’m not the motherly type at all, my preferred stance on breeding being that my ovaries are purely ornamental. It seems to make people laugh when I get questioned as to why I haven’t had kids yet. 

After propping up the mask against the wall where she’ll be safe, I take a seat at my desk and switch the computer on, ready to work into the small hours for yet another night, no doubt. I don’t know when to stop sometimes. I definitely fit the profile of a workaholic. 

At least I eventually find ways to decompress and unwind after a long day, though, even though some find my pastime of night jogging through the forest to be quite strange. After four hours of squinting at figures, I shove my sneakers on, fill my water bottle and hit the forest floor.

I know what you’re thinking too. 'Tyra, you’re a twenty-eight-year-old woman and you’re going for a run through a dark forest all on your own, at 12:20am. Are you crazy?’ You’d be right to think that too, and to question my sanity.

In my defence, I like the dark and for some reason I have very good night vision. I never fall and I never experience fear either, I just run and run and feel my whole body relax as I do it. The noises I hear through the forest never spook me out, never make me feel perturbed. Owls are cute, I enjoy their hooting along with the chirps of the thousands of cicadas. 

It’s just nature, animals live here and I’ve always just felt at one with that. I don’t assume just because a branch breaks behind me that someone or something is about to jump out and get me. Sometimes, however, that theory is tested.

“Where the fuck is it?”

“Jesus, Lafayette!” I scream in my ridiculously high pitched, girly squeal as suddenly from behind a tree out booms the voice and then form of the tall, handsome Merlotte’s cook, who lives just opposite from me.

“Arrrgh!” he screams back, jumping about a foot in the air. “You tryin’ to give a man a damn heart attack, honey child? Fuck, I swear my heart actually stopped beating back there, shit!” he then exclaims, while I feel my own going ten to the dozen inside my chest.

“Sorry, but you were the last person I expected to see out in the forest at this hour!” I exclaim, catching my breath as I do. Running for forty minutes flat out and then having the shock of your life tends to make you rather breathless.

“Bitch, you in my back yard. The fence blew down in the storm last week,” he informs me, smiling although he sounds a bit pissed off.

“Well in that case, excuse me for trespassing. I really had no idea I’d done a whole circuit of the forest, damn that’s shaved at least ten minutes off my usual time,” I say, giving the air a little punch in triumph, making him laugh quietly.

“I guess that answers my question as to what the hell y'all doing out here then, but jogging at almost 1am? Are all Swedish people as fucking crazy as you are?” he snorts, humoured.

“Pfft, racist,” I joke, making him laugh heartily. “I can’t answer for the rest of them, but you’re not the first person to think my night runs are a little weird. I just like how peaceful it is, also I can see well in the dark.” 

“Well, I could use someone with sharp night vision right now, so it’s lucky you came along and scared my spirit clean out of my body. Cast your eyes around and see if you can see a silver and red beaded bracelet, I lost it out here while I was tidying up the mess the storm made out of my fence. If you find it, I might just have to invite you in for a drink as a reward,” he replies with a smile.

“Sure, that’d be nice. I mean, we live across the way from one another and I do the books for the bar you work in and yet, I still don’t really feel like I know you as well as I should. I have a feeling you’re the kind of person I’d like to get to know, though,” I confide, Lafayette nodding in agreement. 

He’s absolutely my type of person, since I favour straight up people who say what they’re thinking without reservation. Even though as I stated I don’t know Lafayette very well, I do know he fits the mould as a straight up person from what I’ve seen so far.

“Get searching, then. The sooner my bracelet is found, the sooner these getting to know you drinks may commence.” Casting his eyes down at the ground, he picks up the large, magenta pink flashlight he was previously searching with, shining it around by his feet while I lift up one of the broken fence boards and look beneath it.

Narrowing my eyes, I continue to look around, dropping the fence board and scanning a small bush close by, feeling lucky when I see the tiniest of glints through the darkness. Clearing some fallen leaves, I pick up the silver bracelet with lots of chunky, hexagonal shaped beads, picking off bits of mulched leaves before handing it to a grateful Lafayette.

“Here. Mine’s a dry gin on the rocks,” I announce.

“Thank you. Just for that, you can have an unlimited supply of my Bombay Sapphire, ice princess. Shall we?” he offers, holding out his elbow and pointing back up at his house, just about visible through the thick trees with his other hand.

“Lets.” I agree with a smile, taking the arm offered to me and walking back up the small yard with him and into his house, which is decorated fairly similarly to mine. Well, mine has more neutral tones where the paintwork is concerned, but we both seem to enjoy an abundance of trinkets, everything from plants to paintings, to carvings and flower filled vases and a plethora of incense, candles and oils burning.

“Take a seat anywhere you please while I fetch some ice.” Lafayette instructs as we walk through his small kitchen, him hovering by the freezer while he points out into his lounge. 

Heading through and seating myself on the couch, I take in the scent of patchouli and vanilla mingling with weed, hearing him breaking ice cubes out of their tray and then the tinkle of them being dropped into glasses. He emerges from the kitchen, heading to where his drinks are all displayed and pulling out the relevant bottles to fill the ice laden glasses before taking a seat beside me.

“So,” he begins, picking up an ashtray containing a large rolled blunt and lighting it up, the air quickly becoming thick with bluish tinted clouds of marijuana smoke. “The night jogging, how long have you been doing that for? Ain’t you scared? What with people like René and that fucking Maryann around?” he then continues with, blowing smoke from his nose. 

René was a murderer who slotted quietly into our little community a while back, going undetected for long enough to murder four innocent women (Sookie’s adorable grandmother included) and Maryann was a Maenad who caused total chaos while she was here, all with the eventual intention of a spiritual wedding using another person as a vessel (Sam Merlotte in this case) to offer herself to her god. 

That was pretty recent, actually. She only met her end a few days ago, in fact. Yep, our world is a damn strange place since supernatural beings began to reveal their existence to the world. It all seems quite topsy turvy and fantasy like at times. Sometimes, you have to step back and remind yourself that this is real life when truly, it feels far from it. 

“They’re both dead, aren’t they? Besides, I don’t see why I should change the way I live my life just because of folks like them. I could get hit by a truck tomorrow, you know? I don’t see the point of hiding from life when the reality is, it could be taken from me at any second by something completely innocuous,” I state with a shrug, taking a sip of my ice cold gin. Ahhhh, heaven.

“I feel that, baby cakes. I really do get that logic. Life is short, why not be and do all you want to be and do? You obviously are, I think that’s the first thing I found that’s to really like about you. You are what you are and do what you will. It’s refreshing,” he replies, squinting through the smoke and smiling at me warmly.

“Same as you by the look of it. I have to say I love your style, dress and house. I’m impressed,” I compliment him with, holding my glass between my knees while I give him a casual little round of applause, making him laugh softly.

“True, I am. Ain’t no one else I’d rather be than me! So, talking of doing the things you do, I have to ask. What drew you to wanting to do sums for people all day long? No offense, but it sounds like a pretty boring vocation. Then again, I ain’t very mathematically smart,” he inquires, taking a sip of his drink before putting it down on the table, flicking the ash from his blunt into the blue glass ashtray.

“I’ve always liked math. I like how no matter what country you’re in it’s the one thing that’s always the same regardless of the language barrier. There’s something beautiful about that. I like it when things add up, I’ve always been good at it too. Grade A math student, pity I sucked at pretty much everything else at school!” I reply honestly. 

Math and sciences were all I was ever good at, and always got A’s or an A plus. I got C’s for English and F’s for art and the like. I couldn’t even draw you a stick man. Picasso would despair. 

“That makes perfect sense. I like how you phrase it too, it being the same no matter what language you speak, that’s a nice way to put it. Does it ever get boring, though? Endless numbers, day in, day out?” he asks with genuine interest.

“Tedious at times, especially when things won’t add up and you have to sit and trawl through pages and pages of company accounts to find out why, just like I’m going to have to do for a new client of mine who owns a bar over in Shreveport,” I confess, taking a sip of my drink and crunching on a half melted ice cube after I’ve spoken.

“It ain’t Fangtasia, is it?” he snorts with a certain amount of distaste.

“Yes, it is. How’d you guess?” I exclaim, impressed.

“I wasn’t guessing, baby girl. I feared that it might be your answer more than anything. Your new client just happens to be one of the evilest, most conniving, dangerous and devious vampires around. Be careful around him, sugar,” he warns, suddenly very serious, fear so noticeable in his eyes, even a blind man could detect it.

“Okay, I’ll trust your intuition. What have you got against Eric Northman, though? He’s not particularly friendly, is he?” I state, Lafayette’s eyes widening.

“Not particularly friendly? You don’t even know the half of it, honey. He’s plain nasty, that dude, just plain fucking evil. I mean it, watch yourself. If I’ve found out anything in just casually chatting to you over the last year and only getting to know you a bit better now, I’ve deduced you’re way too much of a nice person to get caught up with that motherfucker. Heed my warning, hooker.” He urges, using the term hooker with affection instead of derogatorily.

I will heed his warning, I honestly shall. I cannot say that I’m suddenly filled with curiosity over why exactly I should be so careful around Eric Northman, though. I suppose time will inevitably tell. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Tyra’s POV.**

“Hi, Eric sent me up to let you in,” I’m greeted with by a very out of breath and dishevelled looking Kerstin at ten minutes to four on my second day at Fangtasia. On second thoughts, dishevelled is an understatement. With messed up hair, nail marks down her arms and a weeping bite at her neck, she’s what my friend Anna and I would refer to as sex messed. Eric is quite the vigorous lover, it would seem. 

“Here’s the office door key. He wants me back in the basement pretty quick, so let yourself in.” She then says, looking proud that she is the lover du jour of the vampire who pays her salary. I somehow get the feeling he has a steady rotation of women who often all feel the same amount of self-worth because of him choosing them. 

I’m passed the zinc plated key before she scampers off, disappearing down a flight of stairs at the end of the small hallway to the left, the heavy door not quite clicking shut behind her. Even though that door is mostly closed, as soon as I walk into the office, the sounds of two people in the throes of very heated sex come filtering up from the basement, Kerstin screaming her lungs out.

“Thank goodness I had the sense to bring you.” I say to my iPod, retrieving it from my bag and jamming the ear buds in so I may work undisturbed. I have the arduous task of trying to discover the reason why two hundred dollars’ worth of takings appear to be unaccounted for over the past few weeks. 

Every time there’s a gap between tracks or a quiet lull in the song, I can still hear them ferally going at it, so turn the volume up just a touch louder. Puccini is much more preferable. Classical music is a very relaxing background noise when dealing with endless streams of numbers, definitely better than listening to someone else’s sexual annihilation.

My work is undisturbed for approximately another twenty minutes or so, until I feel a presence hovering at the door before suddenly, she’s right behind me. 

“Madame Butterfly, I was right. I heard from downstairs. Ahhhh, beautiful. You have exquisite taste, Tyra. This is further confirmed by yet another beautiful pair of shoes upon your feet. Jimmy Choo, summer campaign, 2009. I have the same pair,” Pam tells me in her usual, casual drawl after removing one of my ear buds and holding it to her own ear. 

“I do like my expensive shoes,” I comment, watching as Pam perches on the desk, looking quite blissful while suddenly reaching out to stroke my hair. What on earth?

“Pardon me, Pam, but I object to being petted. I’m not a Labrador,” I tell her, leaning back out of her grasp. I’m not scared of her, for some reason vampires just don’t ignite fear in me, but I do feel uncomfortable with being touched by those I barely know.

“Sorry, but I just couldn’t resist doing that for some reason. I really don’t think you should either. Resist, that is. We could have a hell of a lot of good times together, you and I,” she purrs, staring me right in the eyes.

“I’m flattered, Pam. You’re a very attractive woman, but I’m not gay and I’m also not interested in vampires. Sexually, that is.” My words cause the kind of frown I should have expected.

“Are you absolutely sure about that? You have no idea what you’re missing. Well, I guess you do know since you’re blocking out the sounds of it right now,” she comments, pointing down to the basement, where the loud noises of Eric and Kerstin enjoying themselves emanates from.

“I have a job to do, one which doesn’t involve listening to my client pounding a second hole into Kerstin’s vagina,” I reply, shocked when I see Pam actually snort with laughter for a brief moment, before checking herself.

“There’s something about you, Tyra. Definitely something about you that I like and hell, I don’t like humans at all. However, you could be an exception. Even if you don’t open your legs to me.” With a quirk of her eyebrow, she’s out the door, leaving me in peace. 

Well, that’s a first. I’ve never been hit on by a vampire before. Even so, the few that I’ve met have always been very complimentary to me, it has been noted. Perhaps that’s why I’m not scared of them, because I’ve only met amiable ones. Until I met Eric, of course. Although polite to a degree he appears to be far from the amiable type. 

I don’t really care whether he is or isn’t, to be honest. What I do care about is why there’s two hundred dollars a week being cashed through the register, but the total cash sales not tallying. There’s a high percentage of spirits and mixers being vended, but only the mixer being accountable for. 

This leads me to believe someone is intercepting the bottles before they even reach the bar, yet ringing their sale through the register in an attempt to cover their tracks. Mr Northman, you have a thief on your hands. 

I share this with him when he eventually puts Kerstin down and graces me with his presence at just gone 8pm, the pungent smell of sex and cheap perfume scenting his skin and thus travelling well through the air. He walks around the desk, leaning over my shoulder and studying the screen intently. 

“Have you established why all this doesn’t add up yet? I should certainly hope so. You’ve been here long enough and at $75.00 an hour, you’re not exactly cheap now are you, Miss Boden?” he asks, turning to look at me. 

“With how many punters you have flowing through the doors of this place each night, you’re not exactly short of a few bucks, are you, Eric?” I remind him, turning in my seat to face him. There it is again, that iron grip on my breath when our eyes meet. Fuck, why does he have to be so damn gorgeous? 

He stares unflinchingly at me, until the intensity of his gaze unsettles my comfort and I turn back to the screen, clearing my throat. It was almost like he was looking through me, like he was attempting to figure something out. Strange. 

“Yes, I’ve found a clear pattern of discrepancy. You’ve basically got a total of two hundred dollars being rung through the register as spirits and mixer sales, except the cash balance doesn’t tally up. The mixers do, however, so it points to the fact that someone is charging though a double measure of spirits with each soda vended. The actual alcohol isn’t even reaching the bar. So, in short…” I explain.

“I’m being ripped off,” he interrupts with.

“Exactly that,” I confirm, watching him frown deeply. 

“When, exactly? When did it start?” he questions, sounding deeply angry, his words cut sharp and short with each syllable that passes his pale lips.

“Three weeks ago this Friday.” He nods curtly with an immediate knowing look.

“Your diligence is appreciated. If you’ll excuse me. I have to shower and then fire the little whore who is behind this.” He moves quicker than my eyes can detect, leaving me to wonder who the pilfering culprit is. Whoever they are, I don’t envy them. Eric seems the type of vampire who comes with a considerably formidable wrath. 

Ten minutes later and he returns, smelling of a peppery scented soap, his wet hair combed back away from his face, dressed simply in a dark grey t shirt and black jeans. It’s one of those tight-fitting ones that makes his muscles bulge. I swear, my cunt just did a backflip. What a body. 

Walking over to the filing cabinet behind of the desk, he opens the first tray, grabbing a handful of little yellow slips (the type couriers give you as proof of delivery) and then placing them down on the desk, searching at speed as he pulls out various ones. When his arm brushes mine, he suddenly stops, staring at me sharply, like I just gave him an electric shock. 

“Problem?” I inquire. 

“Not at all.” Again, we fall into a weighted stare, the attraction between us quite palpable as the spot on my arm tingles pleasantly from the contact of his cold skin. Reaching across me, he lifts the receiver from the phone cradle, pressing a button marked ‘bar line’ before continuing to stare at me. 

“Deborah, send Kerstin to the office right away.” He instructs, moving to the other side of the desk at speed, the yellow slips in his grasp. The way he’s leaning back on the desk gives me the kind of view I’m in no rush to stop seeing, his broad, chiselled back and very pert looking ass displayed nicely to me. You know those Greek statues of the incredibly well build men, all well-defined muscles and smooth alabaster? Eric to a tee.

Alright, I have to stop this incessant drooling over my new client. It isn’t good form, nor particularly professional. It goes without saying that I’m glad when the office door opens and Kerstin walks in, breaking my concentration on the very thing I’m not supposed to be concentrating on. The very thing who I can feel is growing angrier by the second. 

“Kerstin, would you care to confirm that all of these are your signatures?” He questions, almost in a monotone while thrusting the handful of slips forward. She swallows hard, standing up a little straighter and viewing the slips.

It’s as she does so that I see a collection of fang punctures just above her right nipple, her breasts escaping the corset she’s wearing slightly and then disappearing again when she breathes out. I somehow feel she’ll have those marks on her tits longer than she will her present job. 

“Yes, why?” She asks, looking at him nervously.

“Because they, amongst other evidence, confirm that for the last three weeks since you first began here, there’s been two hundred dollars’ worth of stock a week that cannot be accounted for. Someone is stealing it, and that someone is you,” he charges her with, pulling a DVD from his back pocket and walking over to where there’s a player and television and switching them on, sliding the disc into the slot and pressing play as the screen becomes clear.

A CCTV image of the rear of the bar displays, showing the scene of Kerstin signing for the delivery, but leaving one case of bottles (bourbon, I do believe) outside. I guess taking a shower wasn’t the only thing Eric did just now. It was a wise move, to go and check his CCTV feed and catch her in the act. 

He then forwards the disc a few minutes along before hitting play once more, a car driving up to the back of Fangtasia and a girl around Kerstin’s age getting out, loading up the case of booze into her car before driving away.

“Your car keys, now. You have approximately one minute to get the fuck off my property before I tear your arms from their sockets and feed on your remains. Am I making myself clear?” he tells her, so quietly the menace radiates off of him. Yet I myself, even though I can feel how intimidating he is, am not scared. I’m a little enthralled, truth be known. 

“What the fuck?” She splutters audaciously.

“You steal six hundred dollars from me, I take something from you adding up to that value for recompense,” he snarls in reply, looking furtherly vexed by the second.

“My car is worth more than six hundred!” she protests, this time being shown no mercy for her petulance as Eric moves the four feet it takes him to get to her and grabs her around the throat, squeezing until she can’t breathe.

“Don’t kid yourself, sweetheart. It’s worth a grand at the very most. I’ll take the rest as interest. Now, give me the keys.” She finally responds to the balefulness of his tone, thrusting her hand into her pocket and retrieving the keys he duly snatches from her, letting her neck go again in an instant. 

“I suppose you’re the one who worked it out and told him, right?” She then spits at me accusatorily, Eric looking at her with incredulity, likely unable to believe she hasn’t scuttled off yet. Does she have a death wish or something?

“Any good accountant would have, Kerstin. It wasn’t anything personal,” I tell her fairly but not particularly friendlily. I’ve never liked thieves.

“Oh fuck you, you bleached blonde piece of trash!” She then screams at me, getting right in my face as she pounds her hands off the desk. Bad move, girl. I stand quietly before reaching out quickly and grabbing a handful of her long, brown hair, slamming her head straight down against the desk and holding it there while I lean to her level and stare her right in the eye.

“My hair isn’t bleached and I am about as far from trash as you could get. You, on the other hand? Not so much. You’ve been caught out and if I were you, I’d have the good grace to leave quietly, maybe attempt to be a lady instead of antagonising the person who was just doing her job,” I whisper firmly as I push her head harder against the dark, wooden surface, staring at her intently before letting her go and sitting back down in my seat coolly as if nothing happened. 

I never lose my temper, I am a mellow person in that respect, but if someone pushes my buttons, I will tell them exactly what I think about them. Usually, it comes with a side of force, but never anger. It takes a hell of a lot more than that to piss me off. 

“Well, that’s twice you’ve been threatened by an incensed Scandinavian in as many minutes. I’d leave now if I were you, while you still have the legs to carry you,” Eric tells her, sarcasm practically dripping from his fangs, fangs he retracts just after Kerstin hurries out of the office.

“Stupid little whore,” I mutter, in Swedish.

“Agreed,” he chimes, also in our native tongue.

“Sorry if that was out of line,” I then have the grace to admit, back to English as I follow his gaze, moving creepily from the door and rolling over to me, a smirk tilting his lips. 

“Don’t be, I quite enjoyed it. Aggression is something I like very much,” he replies slowly, smiling at me with interest.

“You enjoyed that?” I ask with a little disbelief. Suddenly, our shared stare breaks for a nanosecond before it reconnects, his face inches from mine as his rapid blur comes to a stop.

“I liked it so much, it made my dick harder to see that than four hours of fucking Kerstin did. I enjoy an assertive woman greatly,” he tells me, reaching out and running his fingertip along the line of my jaw. “Give me your hand and I’ll show you.” His fangs pop out as he takes my hand, his intense, steel blue eyes never leaving mine, holding me with the kind of potency which has me so dangerously lost in him that I’ve failed to realise that my hand is steadily being led to his… 

“Eric, no. I’m sorry but no.” I state firmly, rousing myself and yanking my hand from his grasp, pushing them both against his shoulders to clear him from my personal space. Except, he doesn’t move at all. He just stands there, statuesque, no matter how hard I try and push him away from me, looking at me with the kind of surprise a child would upon seeing a larger than anticipated Christmas gift. Okay, this just became peculiar. 

**Eric’s POV.**

“What the hell are you, Tyra?” I question, as I feel her hands begin to radiate gentle, warm energy where they press against me, making me feel something I’m in no rush to stop feeling right now, even though she’s trying to push me away.

“I thought I was Miss Boden to you?” she states, tilting her head to the side slightly and looking at me with a single raised eyebrow.

“Cut the crap and tell me what you are. You’re not human, are you?” I demand, staring at her more intently as the energy coming from her hands just keeps getting stronger.

“I’m very much human, a human who is leaving right now. I suggest you get out of my way while you still have yourself a bookkeeper, but if you like I can keep on walking? Choice is entirely up to you, but no more trying to make me feel your cock, okay? Vampires don’t do it for me, so you’re wasting your time.”

Her words are sternly delivered, turning away to close down the computer and place her belongings back in her bag, acting like I’m not even sitting here. No (human, at least) woman has ever refused me before; it’s something that I do not like one bit. As well as the fact that familiarity I felt in her just grew by a thousand when she touched me, I feel inexplicably pulled in by her. She’s so familiar, but why?

“So, you’ve been with my kind before?” I inquire, standing up straight and folding my arms as I watch her gather the rest of her belongings together.

“No. As I stated, dead doesn’t do it for me,” she affirms, sounding like she’s not enjoying repeating herself.

“How can you know that, unless you’ve had the experience? I know you find me attractive. You should let me show you all the reasons why you’d enjoy me,” I put to her, honestly wanting to know her reasoning. How can you know you don’t like something if you’ve never tried it? That makes no sense at all.

“No matter how proficient you seem to believe yourself to be, the prospect of being jumped by a corpse just doesn’t appeal. There you have it, so please stop asking me and I’ll see you next week.” Picking up her bag, she smiles thinly before striding to the door, brushing my arm as she leaves. 

This is an action that makes all the hairs stand on end, lying flat as she leaves the room, all the energy I could feel gone with her too. It’s like someone with a candle walking out of a totally pitch-black room, taking the only source of light with them. What the hell is she? I need to know what it is about her that draws me in so much, what makes me feel that incredible energy that radiates off of her; to discover why Godric sent her to me. 

I feel already that where Tyra is concerned, my impatience and insufferable thirst for knowledge over everything which surrounds me will get the better of me much quicker that it usually does. At the moment there’s one thing I need to know more than anything, though, and that’s where my bookkeeper lives.

Accessing the computer, I call up all the files with my employee’s personal and banking details within and look for the file marked Tyra Boden, which Pam created last night in order to add her to the payroll. Speak of the devil.

“Where in the hell is Kerstin? There’s a line at the bar two deep because only Deborah and Ginger are on tonight. You’ve not sexually annihilated her again, have you? Honestly, Eric. When will you realise humans just cannot keep up with us in that way?” she says tersely, sweeping into the office and perching on the side of the desk to crane her neck and see what I’m looking at.

“I fired her ten minutes ago. She was pilfering alcohol from the bar. It was nothing to do with her sexual performance or stamina, not that either were particularly notable,” I mutter in reply as I switch off the computer and stand up.

“So, that’s why you’re off to see Tyra then, huh?” I must say, I’m impressed at your speed. You usually wait at least forty-eight hours before you lure them into bed, or into the basement, that should be.” She knows full well that’s as far as any woman, vampire or human, will ever go. I don’t invite them to my apartment, on the same level as the basement but which takes up significantly greater space. They have no place in my home or bed. 

“Well, I tried my luck already with that particular beauty and I can forewarn you now, she doesn’t find our kind attractive, which I must confess is the only thing I’ve found wrong with the woman so far,” she then adds, checking her long, fuchsia pink nails for imperfections before looking back at me with a slight smirk.

“That isn’t the motive of my visit, though. There’s something different about her, something non-human. Surely, you’ve felt it, too?” I ask, watching her begin to nod.

“Yes, I suppose I have felt something differently alluring from her, now you mention it,” she admits.

“Well, there you go,” I say in closing, making a start to leave.

“It can’t be just that, Eric. I mean come on, the last human girl you got like this over was little Miss Sookie Stackhouse, and it took a substantially longer period of time for you to act on how differently she made you feel when she was around. Come on, tell me what else you know,” she continues to engage with, moving to stand between me and the door.

“When I discover more, I will. Oh and for your information, I’d stop myself if I possibly could. The feeling I got from that woman just touching my shoulders was a thousand times more powerful than anything Sookie could ever invoke within me. I’ll be back later, watch over the bar.” Pushing her gently out of my way, I leave at speed, heading in the direction of Bon Temps. 

The quicker I find out just what the hell she is, the happier I shall be. For the sake of my sanity, if nothing else.


	4. Chapter 4

**Tyra’s POV.**

“Oh, finally. Look who decides to return home. Been having fun, have we?” I ask my little tabby cat, Poontang (or Poon for short) as she jumps up on the counter in the kitchen and meows at me, sitting down and beginning to groom her paws.

She’s gone for days at a time usually, but I never worry about her. She’s tough, like her owner. She does need it explaining to her that she’s not an alley cat when she lives on the fringes of a forest, though. She’s a bit of a scrapper, again like her owner.

True, while I don’t have a bad temper at all and prefer to show my fortitude in conducting myself sternly and firmly when required, if someone encroaches upon my personal space in a hostile manner, I have no qualms over defending myself.

“Here, I’ll split it with you.” I tell her, taking the remains of a can of tuna I tipped over the salad I’ve just prepared for my dinner, emptying the other half into her bowl on the floor behind me. She immediately hops down and begins to eat, while I take my food and head to the lounge.

Tonight, I’m going to sit down and eat while spending a little quality time with the man in my life right now. Genghis Khan, a true barbarian. I don’t know what it is that attracts me to danger and rage, to learn about those with a penchant for marauding and brutality, but I’ve always found it very interesting.

I like to find methods to madness, pick inside the nature of evil and find out why it exists, discover a root cause. I have the same kind of fascination with serial killers too, also with some of them, strange as it sounds, a feeling of sympathy. So many of them went through hell in their tender years. I definitely see the pattern between abuse and violent behaviour later in life.

I wouldn’t ever, ever condone the slaughter of innocent people, but those such as Aileen Wuornos, to use an example, I’ve always felt great pity towards. With her tragic life, I can see why she did what she did. She was very, very mentally bent out of shape from her years and years of painful abuse. It doesn’t excuse her actions, but it explains them.

Some call me strange to have these fascinations in the first place, but I don’t care. I like looking at the world through a broader scope. I don’t see things in black and white, nor am I narrow minded. I think it’s perfectly acceptable to find the background of a serial killer sad and feel pity for them while not excusing the actions which lead to their notoriety.

Mr Khan, however I cannot form the same opinion over, obviously, but he still fascinates me just as much. I accept that people are what they are and sometimes, they aren’t always good natured, whether that be of their own volition or at the hand life dealt them.

Still glued to the pages of my book, reading about Khan’s defeat of the Khwarezmian Empire in 1220AD, I return my plate and fork to the kitchen, putting them straight into the sink and retrieving a bottle of water from the fridge. Padding back out again, I nearly I die of fright, dropping both my book and the Evian on the floor when I see Eric standing on my porch, looking at me through the glass panel in the door.

“You don’t give up, do you?” I ask, once I’ve stepped over my dropped items and opened the door to him, leaning against the frame.

I fold my arms and stare up at him, somewhere between amused and incredulous that my new client, a man I only met yesterday has turned up on my doorstep, especially since he noted I wouldn’t be seeing much of him just over twenty four hours ago.

“I’m not here to try and pursue you. Well, at least not in the way you’re thinking. As much as I know I’d enjoy it, you’ve said no and I can take no for an answer. Begrudgingly though, since I don’t hear it often,” he replies, his words casual, delivered so languidly it’s like he almost can’t be bothered to speak them.

“Then why are you here?” I question, perplexed. Just what is this guy’s problem? Does he always contradict his words and actions at every turn? Right now he is demonstrating this by staring right at my boobs. The absolute audacity of him. “For your information, my eyes are up here.” I then add, reaching out and touching my index finger under his chin to lift his head. In a blink, my hand is slapped away like lightening.

“Don’t. If you don’t want to touch me where I want you to, I’d rather you didn’t do it at all,” he snaps, sharply yet so quietly. If I was of lesser substance I’d find him intimidating about now, but it just doesn’t happen. Strangely, I find it kind of sexy.

“Yes, Eric, and I’d rather not be standing here having to ask the same question three times in a row. Why are you here?” I put to him again, watching him starting to frown deeply, four lines creasing his otherwise perfectly smooth forehead.

“You know, I’m not entirely sure why. There’s something about you. I intend to find out what it is, and soon,” he tells me with assertion, looking very thoughtful as he stares at me carefully, his gaze only intensifying in the silence we share.

He has one hell of a powerful stare, one that for a moment makes me wonder if my decision to ban all vampires from my bed is such a wise one after all. “There’s something about you that isn’t human. I could never, ever be as fascinated over what you are if you were just a mere mortal.” He finally speaks, leaning closer to me, his stare now so powerful it makes my knees begin to knock a little.

“Eric, take my word for it. I’m just a person with no unique powers or anything else that makes me remotely special. My only gift is the fact I can add up sums quickly in my head, oh and I’m fast runner and a real mean shot with a long bow. That’s about it,” I confess, hoping to somehow get him to leave, yet somewhere inside, not really wanting him to. What on earth is wrong with me?

“You’re a fan of archery?”

“Very much so, are you?” I inquire.

“A long bow was the first weapon I was taught to use as a boy.” Wait. If a long bow was the first weapon he was taught to use, just how old is he? Hang on, he’s Swedish…so that means he could be…oh my…I swear. If he is what I think he is, my cunt won’t just backflip, it’ll do a full gymnastic routine.

“Were you a Viking?” I question sharply, sounding quite desperate for an answer. Damn my keenness!

“Technically I still am, I suppose.” Boom. There it is. An instant feeling of something like an orgasm rippling through my guts, as there stands an actual Viking in the flesh, one of the most savage and barbaric breeds of men to walk and fight across my homeland back in the ancient times.

I should probably tell you now, in case you haven’t already guessed, Vikings are a major turn on for me. Or rather the idea of them since I never thought I’d meet one, for obvious reasons. Now there he is, a real life Viking, smirking at me with amusement while looking at me so intently, I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“I take it you like that little piece of information? Much more than the fact I’m a vampire, it would seem,” he observes, leaning down closer to my 5ft 9 level and raising one eyebrow. I recognise it to be one of the same inquiring things I do, too.

“I might. It still doesn’t change anything, though. It also doesn’t mean I’m going to invite you in either, if that’s what you were hoping for. See you next week, Eric.” I reply in closing, smiling thinly and then turning to shut and lock the door behind me, picking up my book and water bottle while feeling my heart hammering rapidly in my chest. A Viking. A fucking Viking. How dare he stir my loins like that!

**Eric’s POV.**

‘I’ve found a weak spot. Excellent.’ I think to myself as I fly back to the bar, coming to a stop in front of the door and walking in through the back entrance. I move to take my usual seat presiding over the many patrons, zoning out from everything around me. While in this state, I think back over every single supernatural creature to exist, trying to find a match to anything that emits the kind of beautiful energy Tyra does.

Unfortunately, this isn’t enough to go on alone. There must be other traits to cross reference, meaning lamentably this is where I draw a blank. That energy, though. It was certainly unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in over a thousand years.

As I stated to Pam earlier, the pull I feel toward whatever Sookie may or may not be (we have our suspicions) is nothing, and I mean nothing compared to the energy that radiates from Tyra. I literally feel it flowing into me when she touches me, or when I touch her. Even something as simple as running my finger across her jaw made me tingle from it.

Whatever she is, she’s powerful, to have this much of an effect on a vampire as old and strong as I, especially in such a short space of time. This seals the fact that whatever she is, it’s something big. Why else would Godric have sent her to me? Speaking of Godric…

“There’s a man outside who wants to see you. Shall I send him to your office?” Deborah, my bar manager and sometimes lover asks me as she approaches.

“Name?” I question, looking up at her slowly.

“Greg Dixon, one of Godric’s associates from area nine, apparently,” she replies, while I nod and jerk my head in the direction of the office.

‘Send him in. Tell him I’ll be along shortly. By the way, are you doing anything after you finish?’ I drawl, noticing she looks particularly delectable tonight. My appetite for sex wasn’t quite quenched after four hours with Kerstin earlier. Deborah can help me out there.

“By the look on your face right now, might I be right in guessing I’ll be doing you?” she asserts, smiling as she touches her tongue to her top lip briefly, brown eyes narrowing as her smile widens.

“No, that’s incorrect. I’ll be doing you. I’ll see you down in the basement at 3am. Don’t be late.” I tell her, reaching out to give her wrist a small tickle with my finger. Not that I have much tolerance, patience or general acceptance or like of humans, but Deborah is more tolerable than most. Mainly because she can get all nine inches of my cock into her mouth at once without gagging.

Also, I favour her because she and her family have been secret keepers for vampires for generations, so she can be trusted, too. Secret keepers were families who from one generation to the next offered shelter to vampires in return for their protection, should we ever find ourselves in danger.

Another favourable trait is that she doesn’t do what a hell of a lot of human women try to do and attempt to make me their boyfriend. If I was ever to have a relationship with a female (which I wouldn’t, I have no want or need for companionship on that level) she certainly would not be a human.

“Greetings, Mr Dixon. How can I help you?” I ask my guest, after I’ve wandered down into my office and sat behind the desk.

“This is just a quick visit. I was entrusted to deliver this to you by my Sherriff in the event of his true death,” Dixon replies, clasping a very old, heavy looking wooden box, deep in capacity but only about two by one foot in size. He places it down on the desk, nodding before turning to leave.

“Wait. There’s no key, which deems it a pretty useless delivery and a waste of both my time and yours if it cannot be opened,” I halt him with, watching him come to a stop and turn again at the door.

“He said you’d have the key already and that if you didn’t, you’d find it soon enough. Will that be all, Sherriff?” he states, hand reaching for the door knob.

“Yes, go.” I dismiss, my attention falling back onto the box, not noticing him leave at all as I sit and stare at it, feeling fury beginning to build up inside me. I have no keys that aren’t for the bar, my car or my home. Why the hell is Godric playing games with me from beyond the grave?

Denying me of the rest of my existence with him there was enough, why is he doing this to me now? Taunting me effectively with his fucking games, sending strange women to me that he states are of more value than I know and bequeathing me items which I have no means to open, Pandora’s Box here in front of me being said item.

This is not the behaviour I’ve come to expect from him. It does little to quieten the chaos in my head as to why he’s doing this, too. In fact, it only adds to it. After picking up the box and taking it down to store away safely in my apartment, I decide that 3am is going to come early tonight, firing off a quick text message to Deborah, stripping naked and arriving in the basement to wait.

“You know where I want you.” I instruct, moving her hair from her neck and kissing it just once before she sinks to her knees and starts giving me head.

Sometimes, when everything supernatural starts to fuck with your head, you need a human to take your mind off things for a while. It’s one of the few purposes they can serve pretty well, but even the delectable Deborah cannot keep my mind swayed away from all the mess Godric has implanted in there for longer than about three hours.

I tire of her attention, sending her on her way and retreating back to my apartment, sitting on the couch with the box on the table in front of me. Staring at it, I will it to open, needing to know what the hell is inside it and why Godric didn’t bother leaving me a key. All I have been left with is a handful of clues which so far, do not correlate with each other.

This is beyond frustrating for me, to feel that I am two steps behind in this. I get the measure of people and situations very, very quickly. Give me two seconds to stare at you and after one, I will have worked you out. That’s the kind of vampire I am, one who receives the answers to his questions.

“Patience, my child. Patience.” I suddenly hear behind me, from a voice that fills me with the kind of emotions no other ever could.

“Godric?” I speak in disbelief, flying up out of my seat and turning to be met with nothing, of course.

“Varför er du gör den här till jag?” I then mutter to myself, Swedish for 'why are you doing this to me?’

Why is he doing this to me?

**Tyra’s POV.**

“One Goodyear blimp, delivered right to your door. Now, let me the hell in so I can rest my swollen ankles!” My best friend (or one of two, her boyfriend Dmitri being the other) Anna tells me as I greet her on my porch with a hug, one that won’t stretch all the way around her middle right now, as there’s too much pregnancy in the way.

“Follow me, big mama,” I reply, giving her arm an affectionate stroke and bending to kiss the bump as I show her in. Immediately she waddles to my big, comfortable armchair, lowering herself down with my help. Sitting down and standing up are two things she needs assistance with at this stage in her pregnancy. I’m so glad I’ll never go through this!

“Oh god, that’s better! Is that strawberry and nettle tea I smell? Wow, you’ve really outdone yourself,” she replies with a little surprise as she sits down, rubbing her stomach affectionately while kicking her shoes off.

“It most certainly is. See how much of a good friend I am, I buy you in things I hate the smell of just because I know you love them. I wouldn’t do that for just anyone.” I chuckle, heading out into the kitchen to pour her tea, and a black coffee for myself.

Black coffee, water, the occasional fruit juice, a dry vodka martini here and there and red wine are about all I drink, I’m very organic like that. Except Guinness, but I’ll only drink it if it’s been bottled over in Ireland and imported in, where it tastes better than it does anywhere else in the world.

Anna and I actually discovered that when we went away on vacation to Dublin about five years ago, before she met Dmitri, her part Russian, part Louisianan boyfriend and settled down and became boring. I’m joking, she’s not boring, just because I don’t want to feather a nest and make babies doesn’t mean she’s boring because it’s where she finds her joy.

“I’m fully aware of that, honey. Thank you so much, I’ve needed this since about 2pm!” she sighs, thanking me warmly as I pass her the tea I’m carrying before seating myself opposite her on my lovely, big couch, Poon jumping up to curl herself into what I refer to as a kitty croissant on my lap and sleep.

“So, how did it go looking for the perfect stroller?” I ask her. You might think leaving it until you’ve got three weeks before you give birth a little late to be buying everything you’re going to need for your first born, but Anna just happens to be one of the most indecisive people I’ve ever met. Dmitri is just as bad, too. Between them, they give me a headache with it.

“We found it and ordered it, along with all the other little bits we need too, so come February 23rd we’re going to be fully prepared for the little one’s arrival. Right now I’m actually hoping she comes early, I’m so fucking uncomfortable and still only sleeping for four hours a night,” she informs me, blowing the steam that rises from her (very smelly) tea and taking a careful sip.

“Oh now you’re making me feel guilty. I should have come to you,” I say, feeling a little bad that she hauled her bulk out here for a visit.

“No, no! I was out anyway so don’t you dare feel bad. I hate being stuck at home too, so you’ve done me a favour in inviting me over. Besides, I needed to see you before the Deicide show anyway to make sure you watch Dmitri behaves himself. Please, since you’re not a big drinker, please don’t let him get slaughtered and then come home in a state I’ll have to drag up the stairs,” she giggles, laughing a little harder as she obviously remembers one of her boyfriend’s drunken moments.

She’s referring to the fact that Deicide, a death metal band the three of us like are playing a show in New Orleans in two weeks’ time. Sadly, since she’s obviously too heavily pregnant to attend it, Dmitri and I are going together. I’ll be acting as chaperone more than anything, I think. The big, Russian fella does love his beer.

“Don’t worry, when I’m not throwing people around in the mosh pit I’ll be keeping my beady eye right on him. I shall make sure he doesn’t attempt to drink his own bodyweight in imported beers,” I assure her, Anna laughing with mirth.

“Appreciated. So, anyway how is work going?” she asks me, setting her tea down on the table by her side.

“Fine, busy as ever. I’ll be back into my lair as soon as you leave to keep on number crunching,” I tell her, watching her nodding knowingly. She knows my workaholic ways of old.

Testament to this, although I’m enjoying some time with one of my favourite people on earth, I’m itching to get back to my work and get it all done already. I only stopped for a break ten minutes ago, as well. I have to say I was awake for most of the night, wondering if there was a big vampire still lurking outside my house. Speak of the devil.

“Didn’t you mention something about having a new client over in Shreveport? How’s that going?” she asks me politely.

“Erm, yeah, it’s going okay. Just as long as he keeps his hands to himself and doesn’t turn up on my doorstep like he did last night,” I share as I sip my coffee, disturbing Poon when a drip misses my lips and lands right on her head. I wipe it away and pet her, while she stares up at me with the usual amount of feline displeasure in her lovely, green eyes.

“Oh, got a touchy feely one, have we? As for turning up at your house, dude, what the fuck? Does he not know the stalker effect gets no one very far?” She asks, after snorting out a little laugh, looking unimpressed.

“He hasn’t groped me or anything similar, I’d be out the door if he had,” I begin, Anna nodding. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, which is weird since I only started working for him two days ago. He’s a vampire for one thing, one that doesn’t like the word no for an answer. Also, most bizarrely, he seems to think I’m not a human as well,” I continue, Anna looking hugely confused by such a revelation.

“Okay, this guy sounds seriously weird, really. Not human? So if you’re not a person, what does he think you are?” she questions with incredulity, sounding both amused and a little worried.

“He doesn’t know, which is what’s bothering him. Or rather he’s trying to find excuses as to why he’s more attracted to a human than he ever has been before, which is what I expect it is, since I know I’m nothing more than a regular person. He doesn’t like us much, hence why I believe he needs to justify his interest. I wasn’t remotely interested in him at all either, until I discovered he’s a fucking Viking, of all things,” I explain, watching Anna’s mouth drop open, giving way to a huge, booming laugh.

“Girl! You’re in trouble now!” she squeals with delight, slapping her thigh a few times as she explodes into hysterics. I’m glad she finds it so damn funny. “Wait, hang on a minute. That must make him, what? A thousand years old? That’s kind of gross.”

“Yeah, it is a little. However, you haven’t seen him. He’s gorgeous. I don’t mean just regular gorgeous either. I mean next level handsome. Compounded with the Viking thing, well, its temptation staring me right in the face. He’s still a vampire, though and I maintain that cold and dead still just doesn’t do it for me,” I state vehemently, watching her give me an inquiring look.

“Surely he’s an exception, though, isn’t it? After all, he’s your fantasy. The one breed of man you’ve lusted after and had no hope of ever getting to have a little fun with, until now, that is. You’re right, he is temptation staring you right in the face. Look, I know you separate business from pleasure, but in light of this information all I can say to you is good luck keeping it that way!” she replies with a wink, before looking thoughtful and adding a little more.

“You do know that vampires can do that glamour thing and have total control over your mind, don’t you? What if he does that to you and has his wicked way with you and you never remember? Or what if he’s just too sexy to want to turn down if he tries it on with you again? They’re supposed to be very, very forceful in the pursuit of what they want.” Picking up her tea, she sips and winces, holding her hand to her stomach. She’s often pained by busy baby feet.

“I will remain in control as I always am. Yes, the Viking thing is tempting, too damn tempting if I’m honest. I remain resolute, though. I’m just not interested in anything Eric Northman has to offer me other than keeping his books, so he’s just going to have to get used to that,” I tell her, Anna spluttering through a mouthful of tea.

“Eric Northman?” she shouts at me, reaching out to slap my foot a few times while her jaw swings off its hinge again. I take it she’s heard of him. How, though, I wonder? He doesn’t exactly integrate himself with humans and I know for a fact Anna has never been to Fangtasia before.

“How do you know…” is as far as I get before I’m interrupted again.

“Remember my friend, Lou Bordain from school? The girl you didn’t get on well with? Well, I remember I was having coffee with her about a year ago and saw she had these two puncture marks on her neck, so I asked about it. Turns out that this totally hot vampire, to use her words, named Eric Northman had paid her three hundred dollars to bite her. Apparently her French heritage was appealing to him, he likes French blood. 

“Anyway, I digress. She said being fed on by him was the single most erotic experience of her life, so much so that he made her cum, just from feeding on her. Then he kind of ruined it by telling her to fuck off, but prior to that, yeah. She enjoyed the experience greatly,” she reveals, while I snort with laughter.

“Sounds like Eric,” I comment, suddenly and very strangely zoning out for a moment as my brain digests her comment about Lou finding being bitten by him to be just a touch more than highly erotic. She actually _came_ from being fed on? Is it _that_ good? Is _he_ that good?

My mind transports me back to standing just a foot away from him on my porch last night, daydreaming the pretend scenario of him leaning down to my neck, kissing it a few times, and then the feeling of his fangs piercing…

“Tyra! Come back, sweetie!” Anna shouts, snapping her fingers in front of me, Poon leaping from my lap and deciding between the coffee dripping and all the shouting, she’d rather sleep elsewhere. I can’t say I blame her. “You want him, don’t you?”

“No!” I splutter, aghast.

“Fucking liar,” she chuckles, finishing her tea and remarkably, managing to heave herself up out of her chair unassisted. 'No, you stay there, my ass has gone to sleep. I can rectify that by going and putting the kettle on again and leaving you to your Eric related daydreams.” She adds, holding out her hand for the coffee cup I pass her, gently pushing me back down into my seat when I make a start to get up and do it for her.

“I wasn’t daydreaming,” I protest, frowning at her before she walks away.

“I stand by my comment. You’re a fucking liar, Tyra Boden! A liar who is hot for Eric Northman!” She throws over her shoulder, walking off towards the kitchen.

I am not hot for Eric Northman. No. No, no, no, yea-no!


	5. Chapter 5

**Tyra’s POV.**

“Here, I suffered the company of loud humans and the god awful smell of those ridiculously named coffees to bring you this,” Pam announces, a week after I began doing the books for Eric, technically my third day working here at Fangtasia since I only do two days a week. She’s just pushed a large takeout coffee across the desk I’m sat at, a somewhat crooked smile upon her lips.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, thanks Pam,” I reply, taking the coffee from her and yawning once more.

“Oh, I do want something in return for it.” I raise an inquiring eyebrow at her before she proceeds further. “What I want tell me what the hell you were up to last night that’s got you yawning so much at 5:30pm the following day.”

Since she’s actually making an effort to be friendly to me it would seem, I decide to tell her. I don’t know, I kind of pick up on the fact she doesn’t have many friends other than Eric and seems to have taken an interest in me for this reason, perhaps. Or, she’s still trying to get between my legs, but to be honest it feels more like the former, so I indulge her.

“I had a date,” I confide, watching her look very interested as she pulls up a chair and sits down on the other side of the desk.

“Then do proceed to tell this old vampire all about it,” she requests, with a certain amount of mischief in her voice. “Come on, you might think I wouldn’t like this kind of stuff, but I do. Eric’s no fun, he doesn’t do dates. He’s much more of a drag them off by their hair kinda vampire,” she adds with a little smile.

‘His name is Darren. He’s twenty six so a couple of years younger than me, tall, athletic, hardworking and so damn funny had me in hysterics until 6am this morning,” I reply, watching Pam nodding, turning her hand in a circular motion to indicate she wants me to keep going.

“Where did this Darren take you?” she then asks. “Oh, and he had you in hysterics until 6am? Damn, where are his priorities? If I had a lady like you in my company and home in the small hours, I certainly wouldn’t be thinking of my comedy routine.” She then quickly adds, falling silent once more.

“He came back to my place and believe me, he had those same thoughts as you obviously do on his mind. Unluckily for him, I’m not easy in any sense of the word. As for where he took me, the standard and boring dinner and a movie, but he let me chose the movie so at least he scored points there for himself,” I say, watching her nod.

“Humans, so lacking in original ideas. I don’t know why you bother with them, you should stick to your own kind, whatever that is,” she replies with a sniff, examining her nails, painted a beautiful shade of midnight blue today. That’s something I’ve noticed about Pam, she takes extreme pride in her appearance. She’s very much a lady in that respect.

“I am, as far as I know,” I state, watching her beginning to shake her head.

“We’ll find out what you are, for definite. I maintain you just cannot be human, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you indulging in pleasant chatter right now if you were. Ask the girls who work here, I hardly talk to them. But you? You’re something very, very different,” she divulges, her eyes glittering at me across the desk as I remove the lid from the coffee she purchased for me and take a good gulp.

“I fail to see what all the fuss is about, but I still maintain I’m just a person,” I reply, setting my coffee back down again and going back to the spreadsheet I’m looking at, trying not to gag at the fact the drink has milk in it, but thankfully no sugar. I like my coffee how I like my metal. Black.

“See I’d say the same for all intents and purposes, but I think I’m starting to lean nearer the same school of thought as Eric. You’re company isn’t nauseating enough for you to be human. You have this…je ne sais quoi, as the French call it,” she replies, still pressing this crazy feeling she and Eric share over me. Vampires, huh? Strange beings.

“Speaking of his lordship, how’s his health and temper this week? He isn’t going to be following me home again, is he?” I ask, working quickly through the spreadsheet now that I have the total takings for the last few days entered.

“I wouldn’t know, darlin’. The last time I saw him was in the small hours last Friday morning, when he had his face lost between Deborah’s legs down in the basement. So technically, I didn’t see much of him even then,” she replies with a small, dirty laugh, one that then fades away as she begins to frown. “I’m a little worried about him, truth be told.”

“Pam, not to sound like a nauseating human too much here, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m sat right here,” I offer, reaching out and patting her hand. To my complete shock, she responds by giving my fingers a little squeeze as she nods, smiling thinly. I didn’t expect the gesture.

“Thanks. I have my suspicions about what his disappearance is over, but it’s his business and I cannot divulge it,” she replies solemnly, her obvious affection for Eric and her pride in keeping his secrets shining through.

“That’s a fair comment,” I say, feeling myself begin to wonder what the reason behind Eric not being around for the last week is, and why she’s worried for him.

I don’t know why I care either. It’s likely more curiosity than anything else. Eric doesn’t seem to be the kind of vampire who’d possibly act in a way that’d worry others (unless he’s after a prick upon their arteries, of course) so it’s strange for a vampire, an apparently emotionless creature, to be sitting here looking genuinely concerned for him. “Look, if you’re that worried why not just call him and see where he is?” I then broach, watching her shake her head.

“I know _where_ he is, he’s downstairs and has been for the last six days. God fucking knows when he’s going out to feed, but it isn’t at any time I’m around to see him. You see, if he wanted to talk about anything or see anyone, he’d make himself present.

“After a hundred years together, I know him better than most. I know if he wants to be in company he’ll find it. I never go looking for him when he doesn’t want to be found,” she replies with a slight sigh, getting up and going back to what she was doing when I arrived, sorting through old paperwork at rapid, rapid speed.

“You almost make it sound like he’s your husband,” I comment, entering the expenditures for the last week.

“He feels like it sometimes. I mean, we have the same fundamentals. We argue a lot and we don’t have sex,” she snorts, making me laugh, my funny bone well and truly tickled.

“Well whatever it is that’s up with him, I hope it sorts itself out soon, if anything else to ease your worry,” I offer, Pam nodding.

“That’s kind, thanks. Just don’t overdo it, I’m enjoying the company of someone who isn’t so sugary sweet that your teeth get cavities by just sitting in the same damn room as them,” she exclaims, her hand dropping down a pile of papers into the big shredder at the side of her chair.

“Duly noted.” I reply, before pulling out my cell and calling up Ebay. All employees of Fangtasia are forbidden to use the office PC for anything other than work, so I sit and tap away on my cell instead. I’m watching a pair of shoes that I need to complete my outfit for my second date with Darren this coming Friday.

I met him about two weeks ago when I swung by Merlotte’s for a quick glass of wine and a chat with one of the local farmers about doing his bookkeeping and well, there was Darren. All 6ft 2 of him, eyeing me with an interest I returned when my meeting with said farmer was finally over and he came over to introduce himself.

Yes, even though the first date of a mundane dinner and a movie didn’t meet my somewhat high expectations, his promise of taking me to the gorgeous restaurant Chateaux just outside of Bon Temps to sample some of 'the best Beaujolais ever bottled’ was enough to make me agree to date number two. If that wasn’t, his gorgeous, chocolate brown eyes and wide smile sure as hell were.

“Do not bid on those!” Pam suddenly says sternly, reaching out and grasping my wrist to get my attention. “Wait.” Vanishing from my sight, she returns less than ten seconds later with the very pair of shoes I’m bidding on in her hands. “Size seven, right? Here, borrow them.”

“Are you sure? This is all very kind of you Pam, or is this all just some ruse to get closer to me and find out what I am?” I ask her, a little wary of her motives all of a sudden. She shakes her head and smiles.

“For the first time in a hundred years, I’ve found someone I like being nice to, so take that for the huge compliment it is. Also, note this. I’m not the vampire you have to be suspicious about, let me lay those cards right on the table for you.

“I’m as much my own person now that I’m a vampire as I was when I was still human. In short, this means that if I want to make a friend, I want to do it for me, not to find out what she is and go running back to my boss to tell him. Chill out, Tyra. Enjoy the shoes,” she replies in her usual flat monotone (pretty much how most vampires talk, their words sound dead) winking and then grabbing the last pile of papers she’s sorted, feeding them into the shredder and then checking her watch.

“Right, I have twenty minutes until the doors open, I must leave and go and pour myself into something suitably tight and shiny to greet the punters in.” She leaves the office just as quickly as she entered it, while I smile at the cerise velvet, strappy pumps, pleased that I didn’t have to part with two hundred dollars to get them.

**Pam’s POV.**

You know, in the last one hundred years since I was made, human companionship on any level has been something I haven’t sought. I’m a vampire, which means I no longer think like a human, even though I am a lot more human in nature than vampires like Eric and others I could care to mention.

This is why I really am starting to lean towards what Eric is so adamant about, that Tyra is not a human at all. If she was, I wouldn’t be interested in being her friend and I most certainly wouldn’t feel the weird energy I feel when she’s around either.

I feel it if I touch her or she touches me too, as Eric has also stated he’s noticed. It’s like she can transmit this really beautiful, euphoric state, like she’s casting a damn spell, yet I’ve met witches and I know she isn’t one of them. When she put her hand on mine earlier, I felt it, like someone was pouring stardust or something else you humans equate to prettiness and light into my hand. It was strange, but oh so nice.

I felt just a touch more powerful for a second too, like she was charging batteries that I don’t actually have. Weird. Anyway, enough of little Miss unidentified, beautiful supernatural creature upstairs. It’s the very big, identified vampire here downstairs who draws my concern at this moment.

I think I’ve deduced why he’s locked himself away. One word, Godric. If anything - and believe me the instances are far and very few between - ever affects him like this, he hides it so well you’d never know. His general demeanour is so stoic that you just wouldn’t notice. He does have some emotions though, trust me he does. He just hides and suppresses them very well, until he forgets they’re even there.

I know all this because of the fact his blood flows through my veins, meaning I can feel what he’s feeling. He’s tormented, angry, annoyed and just a touch lonely as well. Even though he hadn’t seen Godric in over sixty years, I know his demise is hitting him a hell of a lot harder than he’ll ever admit even to himself, let alone to me.

Coming to a stop down in the basement, I push the heavy door open that leads to the narrow passageway which leads to our apartments, passing mine and continuing to the door that opens into Eric’s.

This place used to be the biggest weapons store and underground gun club in the whole of Louisiana before it closed in 1980, back when Eric purchased it with the intent on turning it into a bar. Right down here in the bowels of the building was an underground shooting range, a fucking big one at that.

For twenty five years, if you wanted to fire anything at an inanimate target, from an ordinary hand pistol or air gun, to an M-16 or a .50 AE Desert Eagle, this is where you came to do it safely. Every American has the right to own and operate a gun, and the clever previous owners ducked and dodged a hell of a lot of Shreveport bylaws on safety and gun usage in a public place by constructing the range way down here, out of harm’s way.

We completely gutted it and turned it into two living spaces, residing down here quietly and operating the bar above, until our presence in this world had the spotlight thrust upon it and we came up and out into the open, turning the bar into Fangtasia and cashing in greatly on the whole vampire obsession. It’s made Eric a million per year in clear revenue since we reopened it as a vampire bar four years ago. Not bad, huh?

“So, are you coming out at all this week? Or are we following Anne Frank and hiding out for a few more years to come?” I say after I’ve reached Eric’s door and tapped it with my knuckle a couple of times.

“Come in, Pam.” I hear him call, sounding dejected. Letting myself in, I’m met with the light and warmth from hundreds of candles dotted around everywhere, wax pouring off them into the dishes they sit in, onto the floor and lesser highly regarded pieces of furniture in some cases. I find Eric lying shirtless on the couch, dressed only in a pair of very dark blue sweats, also wearing a heavy frown, one hand draped across a wooden box atop his stomach.

“Why did Pandora trust you with the box?” I ask as I move closer through the vast space at a slow walk.

“If she had, then it’d be a simple conscious choice whether to open it or not. With no key and no visible means of breaking into it - yes I’ve tried - its contents will not be revealed to me either way. Such is driving me mad,” he grumbles, looking down at the said unbreakable storage receptacle and running his thumb over a natural knot in the wood finish before picking it up and putting it down on the floor, the deep frown still etched across his forehead.

“This self-seclusion has more to it than just not being able to open a box, though. I know what it is too, but I have more respect for you than to broach it. I just wondered if I would be seeing you upstairs any time soon,” I tell him once I’ve reached the foot of the couch, watching his eyes move away from the candles he was staring at to meet mine.

“Thank you for your concern. I’ll probably be around later.” The air of finality in his hushed tones tells me that’s all he’s willing to communicate, so I decide to simply leave him to it. I know when I’m welcome in his presence and when I’m not by now. Right now I know all the company he wants is his own.

It was only a week and a half ago that he lost his maker, after all. No matter how strong, confident and steely he may be, losing the one who made you what you are, who you shared a bond that went beyond friendship for a thousand years with, has to have some effect. He’s in mourning, still. This I will respect.

Even though at first he just behaved like his usual self, I sensed something was ticking away inside him, a need to be alone for a while and do his usual routine of suppressing until he just forgets. That’s exactly what he’s going to do once he comes out of his mourning period. Not forget Godric, per se, but forget how it felt when he lost him.

As I walk back down the passage and let myself into my own residence, I put myself in his shoes, what it’d feel to lose him and then times it by a thousand. Okay, I didn’t like that one bit, which swiftly leads to me deciding that as I buckle up the purple PVC dress I plan to wear tonight, Eric can surface whenever he likes.

Just as long as he really is himself again when he does and not mourning or worrying over the contents of boxes, that’s all I care about. Deborah told me it’d had been delivered by someone from area nine, so I can only naturally assume that also has something to do with Godric. Why he’s obviously been given no key for it is a total mystery to me, though.

**Eric’s POV.**

I must confess, after secluding myself for six days and nights, only surfacing at speed to hunt, feed and return without anyone seeing me again, I feel better. Yes, I’m still annoyed by the cryptic tangle Godric has left me in, but I’m now determined to get to the bottom of this, the obvious task he has left for me.

The time to grieve has ended and any residual feelings of it must just be channelled into finding out both the contents of the box and what on earth the bookkeeper he sent to me is. I can’t help but think that the two are connected. Neither has been presented to me in a straightforward way and both harbour elements I cannot see as yet.

It’s here that an idea presents itself to me, and after throwing myself off the couch and speeding over to my bed area (I don’t have a bedroom, only the bathroom is sealed off in this one level giant space) to take the first thing my hand falls on out of the chest of draws.

I pull on a grey vest, forgoing shoes before picking up the box of annoyance and then zooming out, coming to a stop in the office, where Tyra sits. She looks even more beautiful than my mind’s eye remembered.

“I remember last week you told me of two talents, math and archery. I don’t suppose you have anything that could extend to lock picking, do you?” I ask her as I walk to her side behind the desk, placing the box down in front of her.

“Well hello to you, too,” she replies sarcastically, arching an eyebrow at me.

“I’m in no mood for smart comments,” I state tersely. 

“I was trying to be humorous. I think you missed it, though,” she replies with a small laugh.

“Don’t fucking mock me, Tyra! Just open the damn box,” I demand, moving inches away from her face and glaring at her, feeling my anger rise when she gives me a look of distain.

“No,” she replies boldly, moving her own face until it’s literally an inch from mine. “I don’t respond well to rudeness.”

“And I don’t tolerate young women giving me sass,” I fire back, growling low in my throat.

“I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” I tell her strongly, watching her staring at me so intently, I really don’t know what I want to do more, kiss her or kill her. I can see something very clear here, which is that she’s not afraid of me. I like it about as much as I loathe it. I haven’t met anyone who hasn’t been scared of me in a long, long time.

“You do realise what I can do to you if you keep pushing my temper like this, don’t you?” I warn her.

“What, bite me? Come on then Eric, do it. Where were you thinking of exactly anyway, here?” she replies slowly, leaning back in her seat and running a black painted fingernail down the side of her neck. Right now I’m stuck between incredibly enraged and incredibly turned on by the fact she has the balls to stand up to me. For that alone, I quash any desire to sink my teeth into her and drain her dry, which just leaves me with…

“Just open the fucking box. Please,” I ask quietly, now controlling the desire to rip her out of the chair and fuck her right here on the floor. If I could glamour her (and annoyingly, I can’t) I’d do it, even though my ego does usually demand that the woman in question knows how much she’s enjoying herself at the time, rather than having it erased from her mind.

“Aha, the magic word. Well done, you,” she replies, smiling, her demeanour totally changing even though her sarcasm lingers. I then stand up straight again and lean back against the desk, watching lean forward and take the box, holding it up and looking at the lock.

“I’m no expert. About the closest I’ve got to lock picking was jimmying one open with a knife, but that was a simple bicycle lock. This looks much more complicated,” she states, while pulling a white pin from her hair, bending it straight at the middle. She has her mountain of blonde tresses all pinned up today, all rolled around and neat but with loose pieces pulled free around her face and the back of her neck, making the gentle pulse that flickers her neck visible to my eyes.

I keep my mouth closed to conceal my fangs popping out, while I watch her fiddle around with the pin in the lock, trying to work the levers as I did with knives, pieces of wire, inkless fountain pens, other keys I knew wouldn’t even fit, etc. You name it, I tried it.

“Nope, it’s not budging for shit,” she finally speaks after five minutes of silence, other than the sound of a pin picking away at the levers inside the lock that still refuses to open.

“Thanks for nothing.” Snatching the box from her lap and disappear off downstairs with it again, taking a call from an associate. The call means that by the time I’m done and have changed into something smarter to return upstairs in (a grey suit and black shirt) she’s on her way out, taking my usual seat and watching her leave, once again feeling all the energy leaving with her.

Once she’s gone, I finally feel all the blood that’s been inflating the enormous erection I’ve had for the last ten minutes rush away too. I hate wanting what I can’t have. No one should ever underestimate the measures I’ll go to in my pursuit of getting it, though.


	6. Chapter 6

“I think the hardest part of going organic and dragging everything else kicking and screaming into the twenty first century was getting old gramps used to it all. He ran that farm with a ledger for fifty years, he didn’t take too kindly to having to get used to a computer to record the stock control! Grandma took to it like a duck to water though, she said it made it a thousand times easier to keep a record of everything to do with the farm shop,” Darren explains while I listen intently, relishing in every second of our date so far. 

He’s telling me all about when he and his father decided to bring the farm, ran by four generations of the Timmins family, into the modern times by using computer technology and also going completely organic. I have to say, it’s really nice to listen to stories about such a different life to mine. 

He works every day out in the elements, come rain or shine, fresh air circulating his big lungs and sun falling onto his golden skin, highlighting his hair as it has. He’s a really good looking guy and so nice as well. Plus, he’s interesting and intelligent, not some dull-witted farming hick like so many in and around Bon Temps.

“So, you grow crops as well as rear beef cattle and horses? I hope the recent storm didn’t do too much damage,” I comment, after taking a sip of what probably is the best Beaujolais I’ve ever tasted, as he promised. The steak I ordered for my main course was probably the best I’ve had in a while too, a proud moment for Darren as he revealed his farm supplies Chateaux with their meat.

“Yes we do and yeah, we lost a few fruit trees but most of our plantation won’t come up until the spring, so it wasn’t too bad a hit,” he replies. “I take it you’re enjoying the wine?” he then asks, while I nod and smile.

“The company as well,” I reveal, smiling even wider when he does.

“Ditto.” Reaching across the table, he gives my forearm a little tickle with his fingertips, winking at me. It makes my stomach flip pleasantly. As far as second dates go, this one is going superbly. 

He’s smart, funny, gorgeous, has the same interests as me (except for the archery, but I’ve already promised to give him a lesson out in the woods behind my house where I have a target nailed to a tree) and is just a really great guy from what I can tell so far.

“I’ll have to get you up to the farm soon, see if we can’t get you up on one of the horses,” he then announces, topping up our glasses with the wine as he speaks.

“Yeah, maybe, but they’re about the only thing that kind of scares me. They’re very intelligent and intimidating all at once. What if the one I’m sat on works out I’m nervous and decides to use it to his or her advantage?” I ask him, a legitimate concern, I feel.

“I’ll get you up on my dads’ old horse, Elvis. He moves at speeds of four miles an hour and below since he’s twenty nine now.” Darren replies, making me feel a little easier about the idea of being on top of something with a mind of its own. I’m only used to that in the sexual sense with a man, not the ‘Hahahaha, the person on my back is crapping themselves, let’s gallop off fast’ sense. 

This is just great, sitting here listening to him making plans to see me again, knowing he’s obviously quite keen. The last guy I went on a date with bored me to death within twenty minutes, but then again just how much fun can someone who sells pet clothes on the internet be, exactly? He wanted to give me a sweater for Poon. I told him she’d sooner claw my face off than allow me to dress her. 

“Well, as long as he doesn’t reach five miles per hour then we have a deal,” I joke, making him laugh. Yes, definitely better than John the pet clothing man, or Mac the dentist, or Carl the construction worker, none of whom lasted beyond the first date. 

Those are the only dates I’ve had since I split up with my ex-boyfriend, Harrison nine months ago. It wasn’t a painful split at all, we just wanted different things. I ended it, because I wanted him to have what I wasn’t prepared to give him. Babies. It’s actually harder than you’d think to find a man who doesn’t want to have children in the future. Harrison was definitely one of the ones who did and I wasn’t going to deprive him of that just because I have no desire to procreate. I can’t imagine a worse fate, truth be told. 

I’m not going to drop that bombshell on Darren yet, as I have every faith that being a family man and bringing another generation of Timmins kids into the world to run the farm when he’s old and grey is exactly what he wants for his future. I’d at least like to enjoy him for a while in the here and now first. Every woman has her needs, but even still, I’ll make him wait. Even though I have the sex drive of a teenage boy, I’m a lady. Kind of.

“You mentioned you’re learning to play guitar to me when I first met you, but I neglected to touch upon the subject again on our last date. So how’s that going? How long did you say you’d been learning?” I’m then asked with genuine interest. I like that, that he remembered something I barely even mentioned. Oh yes, there shall definitely be a third date.

“About a year. My ex was giving me lessons and I just carried on learning from books and YouTube videos after that. I’m pretty awful, but determined to get better. I don’t like giving up on things easily,” I explain, watching him nodding before he goes on to tell me about his own brush with musical instruments, an ill-fated attempt at drumming that ended somewhere between his inability to establish a good rhythm and his mother complaining about all the noise. 

When Harrison and I parted after three years, he left his beautiful black and cherry sunburst acoustic guitar at my place, where it had lived for most of the duration of our relationship, although we never lived together properly. We always had our own homes still, even if we did spend a week at one and then a week at the other and so on. But anyway, back to the guitar…

“Keep it, you always loved it,” he told me as he swung his bag of belongings I’d packed up for him onto his shoulder, smiling at me a little sadly and tucking one of his long, gorgeous dreadlocks I always loved so much behind his ear.

“Are you sure? It’s so beautiful, you loved it so much when you bought it,” I replied, remembering the afternoon he purchased it, on a road trip we’d made to New Orleans about seven months into our relationship.

“Sure, she needs to be played anyway and since I’m moving onto bass more these days I know she’ll have a good home here with you.” He assured me with a smile, before he gave me a hug, told me he’d miss me and left. 

It was the last time I saw him. He moved back to Portland shortly afterwards for a fresh start back home. We still text, but the messages are few and far between. It’s always the way with an ex, really. You have the best of intentions to stay in touch if the split was amicable enough to warrant it, but it never really lasts the test of time. I hope he’s happy, all the same.

“Well, I’ve made it for three hours now. If you’ll excuse me so I can go and indulge my filthy habit,” Darren excuses himself almost apologetically as he stands and takes his jacket from off the back of his chair, pulling it on and removing a pack of Marlboro reds from his pocket.

“I cannot promise you a kiss goodnight unless you have a mint, I hope you realise that,” I flirt, watching him begin to smile widely.

“Then in that case, we gotta make a stop at a gas station on the way back to your place.” Oh, the butterflies in my stomach right now from the smile he just gave me. He is ridiculously handsome. 

I’ve been looking forward to this, even though just two days ago I did contend in a world heavyweight flirting match with Eric in the office, despite my feelings towards vampires and clients. Well, I guess it wasn’t exactly flirting, we were snapping at each other but still, there was something sexual simmering away. The chemistry was palpable.

Okay, so the Viking thing got in a little bit. I confess! It still doesn’t mean I’m not beginning to like having the company of someone like Darren, though. He’s definitely the better choice for me. 

**Eric’s POV.**

Ahhhh, so the one they call Darren is a smoker. This means my task will be a lot easier than I anticipated, since I won’t even need to enter the building he’s just walked out of. Not that I couldn’t get out of sight in a quick enough time or anything like that, but keeping off the premises is more discreet for what I’m about to do. 

“Excuse me, do you have a light?” I ask him, adding a touch more of a human tone to my voice, making conversation so I can get close enough to him without spooking him.

“Sure, hold on a sec,” he replies friendlily, looking down to search his jacket pocket. When he looks up again, I lock him in a stare and watch his eyes lose focus, glamouring him instantly.

“When you go back inside, you will pay the check at the desk and leave immediately, without Tyra seeing you. You will never contact her, or accept a call or return a text from her again. You’ve decided she isn’t the kind of woman you’re looking for after all. You’ll find someone else and forget all about Tyra Boden.” I tell him, watching him nodding while I smile.

“Good, now go.” I move away from him at speed, so he won’t even know I was there, back to behind the two tall trees I’ve been waiting behind, waiting for my chance to do what I intended. I wait and watch him go back in, pay and then leave quickly and quietly, heading out to his car and driving away, without Tyra. 

I suppose you’re wondering how I knew about all this in the first place, right? Well, all I can say is never underestimate a vampire’s ability to listen in on conversations between his progeny and her new friend, the bookkeeper. With that, my work here is done.

**Tyra’s POV.**

Jesus, how many cigarettes is he having out there? Half a pack? He’s been gone for fifteen minutes now. I’m suddenly starting to feel as alone as I look in this room full of other diners, just sitting fiddling with my empty wine glass since the bottle was finished on what’s left in his. 

Maybe he had to go to the men’s room? Maybe he had a bad reaction to the shellfish entrée or something? Either way, I think I’ll go out front and see what’s up. After taking my long, black coat off the chair I pull it on and head out to the front, looking through the many glass panes of the large windows but not being able to see my date at all.

“Excuse me. The tall guy I arrived here with in the dark grey suit, you haven’t seen him at all, have you?” I ask the smartly dressed hostess at the welcoming desk where the register and credit card terminal are located.

“Yes, madam. He paid the check and left about a quarter of an hour ago,” she tells me, a sudden sympathy in her eyes when my face must make it clear that I didn’t know of his departure.

“Thank you, and thank you for a lovely evening, too. It was excellent. I couldn’t trouble you to call a cab for me, could I? I don’t have a number for this area,” I reply, trying to sound indifferent to the fact I’ve just had my date walk out on me.

“Certainly. Please wait here in the foyer until it arrives,” she replies with efficiency, gesturing to the plush chez over by the window with one hand while picking up the telephone with the other.

“I think I’d like some fresh air, but thank you.” Reaching into my pocket and pulling out a twenty dollar bill, I press it into her hand as a thank you for her kindness, smiling and leaving with my pride just about intact. 

'Okay, so what the hell just went on there?’ I say to myself as I stand outside Chateaux, truly baffled and a little angry at why he suddenly just upped and left, after we were getting on so well, without even a word in explanation.

I then open my purse and rummage around until I find my cell, checking it just in case he left a message or tried to call and I didn’t hear it. Perhaps there was an emergency back at the farm? He did say there were two mares due to give birth at any moment, perhaps one of them went into labour and he was needed? 

However, when I locate my cell and pull it from its leather pouch, I find the only message I have is from Dmitri, a joint one from him and Anna inquiring about how my date is going. It was received half an hour ago at 10.42pm. If I’d have replied to it then I’d have said it was going magnificently, because it was at that particular time, but now?

Now I think it’s safe to say my date has turned into a disaster. Not wanting to look desperate or needy by calling, as I wait for my cab to turn up, I punch out a quick text.

'Hey, tonight was great. I was a bit surprised at your sudden exit, though. I hope everything is okay. Call me when you can. T.’

I search for his number and press send when I’ve obtained it in the list, texting Dmitri back telling him I’ll call him tomorrow at some point, before I switch my phone off and throw it back into my purse in a disgruntled fashion. 

I take a small wad of bills out to have ready to pay the fare, thinking it’s a small mercy at least that I have fifty dollars on me, which should more than cover the ride home in the cab that arrives after a short wait.

Throughout the duration of that ride, I can feel myself getting more and more pissed over it, asking myself over and over why he just left like that. It’s weird, really fucking weird. I thought the night was going so well, too. 

Taking a deep breath, I rest my head against the cab window and breathe out slowly through my nose, making the glass steam up. It distorts the view of raindrops falling on it, the gloomy night now fully descended into heavy rain. 

Once home, I pay the driver and tell him to keep the six dollars change, pulling my coat up over my head before I exit the cab, slamming the door just as I see Lafayette come driving up, honking the horn of his Mercedes at me.

“Hey, ice princess. Can I tempt you in for a nice, warming Courvoisier and coffee on this cold and rainy night?” He offers, getting out and locking his door at speed while I pull my coat further up over my head. I like the way the universe has a habit of throwing me exactly what I need, just when I need it.

“You absolutely can,” I reply, before we both make a run for his front door, shaking ourselves off once we’re inside, Lafayette taking my coat for me and hanging it up on the back of the door.

“Have you just got off at Merlotte’s, then?” I ask as I follow him through to the kitchen, his arm reaching out to take the large bottle of brandy from his stash of bottles as we pass it on the way.

“Nope, it’s my night off. I had a bit of extracurricular work to take care of,” he replies, giving me the kind of look I read loud and clear. Lafayette is, after all, a small time purveyor of fine herbs and mind bending pharmaceuticals.

“Say no more,” I state, holding my hands up and laughing softly.

“So is you sweet enough, or is you wanting a little Demerara in this coffee?” he questions, gesturing to the near overflowing dish of brown sugar.

“I’m sweet enough, big poppa. Well I thought I was, until earlier,” I sigh. 

“Oh really? Which blind, dumb ass fool told you that you weren’t?” he inquires with a snort, filling the coffee machine with water and switching it on. 

“We didn’t even get that far, believe me. I went on a date tonight and everything was going swimmingly, until he went outside for a smoke and didn’t come back. I waited a little while, completely unaware, until I went out to the front desk only to be told he’d paid the check and left,” I reply, watching Lafayette raise his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Hm, but at least he didn’t stiff you with the bill, huh? Could have been a whole lot worse honey child, but it does suck. I don’t blame you for looking as pissed about it as you do. I’m pouring an extra slug of brandy in here just for that reason alone,” he states, pointing at the large cup he didn’t add any sugar to.

“Yeah, there is that, I suppose,” I concede a little glumly. I feel like someone clipped my wings. Oh well, life goes on. Men aren’t worth moping over, something my friend is quick to remind me. 

I’ve seen a lot of him over the last fortnight, our once casual friendship seeming to be a little more cemented now, which is nice. I wouldn’t say I’m antisocial or anything, or unpopular, but I don’t have a whole tribe of friends. Mostly they all live outside of Bon Temps, too, so making one this close to home is an added bonus.

“I know it’s a cliché, but he ain’t worth It, hooker. You know you can do better than that. Not if he’s the type to just leave you by yourself like that without a word. I wouldn’t even give him a second thought if I was you,” he tells me, the coffee beginning to trickle into the pot. 

“I’ll take my black, please,” I tell him once it’s dripped enough to make two cups, watching him put the cream back into the small fridge by his knees and then pass me my mug.

“Keeping it real, a girl after my own heart.” He comments, making me laugh as we walk into the lounge and take up residence on the couch. 

At least only part of tonight has been shit, and from tonight onwards, today will not be known as the day Tyra got walked out on, today will be the day Tyra went to see Lafayette and got really drunk on brandy laced coffees until 2am, when we switch to just the brandy by itself.

“Are you feeling better now you’ve sat and helped me finish the best part of a bottle of this fine and distinguished gentleman’s drink?” He asks fancily as he pours me another Courvoisier.

“Much better, in fact I’m so drunk right now I’ve forgotten what I was even mad about,” I reply jokingly, snorting with laughter and resting my head back against the couch seat. We slid to the floor about half an hour ago and right now he’s smoking a joint while I find myself getting stoned passively. Apart from one of Dmitri’s brother’s sticky toffee hash cakes (yes, they taste as good as they sound) on very scarce occasions, drugs just aren’t my thing. 

“No you ain’t, you’s thinking about him right now, huh?” he deduces, while I know something in my face must’ve betrayed me for a second there. Okay, so yes Darren did just flicker through my mind for a few moments, making my heart drop for a couple of beats before it picked up again.

“Am I allowed one moment to be pathetic and then never mention him ever again?” I ask my friend, watching him mull it over.

“You got one minute to vent, mama and then yes, the name Darren Timmins is never mentioned between us again,” he confirms, sipping his brandy.

“He was so hot, Lafayette. So damned hot and interesting and gentlemanly, and hot! Did I mention that he was hot?” I whine, making him laugh while I feel better for my little loudly delivered tirade. Very drunkenly too, but much better after airing my main gripe about the whole Darren situation, a name I definitely will not be mentioning again. 

Lafayette is right, I can do better. Onwards and upwards. I toast my eighth brandy to hopefully having better future choices in men. Except…it’s me, isn’t it? Good choices and men never go hand in hand with me. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Tyra’s POV.**

Six days have passed since my disastrous date with Darren, six days and not a word from him. Not even a reply to that one and only text I sent him on my way home afterwards. I guess he wasn’t as nice as I thought after all. 

No matter what I said to Lafayette, I still held a tiny grain of hope he’d get in touch. I rapidly got the fuck over it and carried on, though, deleting his number from my phone and his memory from my head. It just wasn’t meant to be, I suppose. Whereas I’m all for leaving the subject, it seems that soon someone else won’t quite be so keen on just letting things go.

“Why the hell is Pam leaving her shoes around?” Eric asks as he comes tearing into the office just twenty minutes after I arrived here and began my work, noticing the shoes I borrowed from her last week.

“She lent them to me, I’m just returning them, is all,” I inform him, looking over to where I’ve hung the shoes off one of the desk drawer handles.

“Any special occasion in particular?” he inquires, perching on the edge of the desk on the other side.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I had a date,” I reply, looking away from the computer screen for a few seconds to cast my eye over him. Except I keep my eye on him for longer than I intended. I hate to acknowledge it, but I swear he gets sexier every time I see him. Tyra, stop.

“Oh, and how did that work out for you?” he asks me casually, hardly sounding interested enough to even ask the question properly, let alone have any genuine interest in hearing the answer.

“Badly, if you must know.” I hope he picks up on my air of finality.

“Why?” I guess not.

“I don’t wish to discuss it,” I say, trying to stop myself from feeling wound tightly by his obvious amusement. 

“Did he stand you up? If he did, well, he must be a particularly stupid breed of man,” he replies, his words although as languid and emotionless as always, somehow quelling my tempers gentle rise at having him press the subject by such a complimentary observation.

“No, he didn’t.” Leave it now, Eric. Please. 

“Didn’t he fuck you like you wanted him to? Let me guess, he was too gentle with you. I bet you enjoy proceedings to get a little rough, don’t you?” he then asks, his crudeness both an irritation and a turn on in equal measures. Who the hell does he think he is?

“Pity you’ll never find out, isn’t it?” I snap back, looking away from the computer at him again, smiling as I land one over on him. I’m not prepared to be baited like this. I wouldn’t stand for it from any other client, so he shouldn’t be any different. 

“But I will.” His confidence is deluded.

“No, you won’t,” I correct him, with matching bravado.

“Face it, the idea of having a Viking fucking you is too much for you to resist for long. You know it and more importantly, I know it too. You can’t hide that from me, Tyra, so play your little game of hard to get for as long as you like. We both know you’re going to crumble sooner or later,” he explains, awash with his own smugness. 

“Complacency doesn’t suit you, Eric. Especially when I’m really, really not interested. It just makes you look pathetic.” Suddenly, his actions knock the wind out of me, ripping me from my seat by my throat and pinning me against the rear wall of the office. He holds me there with a firm grip, growling at me with a lethal glower, so close his nose touches mine. 

“No one gets away with talking to me with as little regard as you seem to think you can. Button that smart mouth of yours, before I rethink my decision not to drain your dry and throw your shrivelled corpse in a river somewhere. Remember, you’re disposable, entirely disposable.” He threatens me with, not raising his voice once, but conveying the tone perfectly. 

For the first time, I’m scared of him, I’ll admit it. Perhaps I shouldn’t have verbally pushed his buttons, but this is even furtherly unacceptable behaviour. No words I spoke warrant this, being on the receiving end of one hell of an irate Eric, holding my neck so tightly, I can barely breathe.

Fear makes my heart pound nervously, but equally I am flooded with a sick, sadistic throb of arousal somewhere deep within. Oh hell. Damn him. Damn me too, more to the point! What on earth is wrong with me?

Finally, he lets me go and doesn’t turn around again as he leaves the office, leaving me standing here rubbing my throat, which feels very sore. So, there is a limit he can be pushed to, then. I think it’s fair to say I just shoved him right over it. Note to self; never again refer to Eric Northman as pathetic. 

One thing I will call him out to his face for is having a fucking bad attitude, when I tell him he can stick his job up his ass. I won’t be staying around for long enough for him to think his actions were acceptable. Leaving my file open and unfinished, I unplug my hard drive and pack up my belongings before leaving the office and heading out into the bar.

It looks remarkably full considering it’s only just turned 7pm, but the amount of punters who frequent it nor what they spend are of any consequence to me any longer. I’m done. Striding over to a small table by the bar that Eric is sat at with two other vampires, I clear my throat and resist the urge to take a swing for him. It’d only make matters worse.

“Find yourself a new bookkeeper, Eric. I might not get away with calling you out for exactly what you are, which is a bad tempered, pathetic asshole, but you don’t get away with throwing me into a wall either. Fuck you.” I tell him, watching him go from looking amused at my anger with a slight raised eyebrow, to pretty angry once again.

“You wish.” He mutters quietly. Not that I care much about anything he has to say now, if I never see him again, it’ll be too soon. Men, human or vampire, right now they just plain piss me the fuck off. You wish? No, Eric. You do. The fucking nerve of him!

**Eric’s POV.**

Perhaps that was a bad idea, just letting her up and leave like this when Godric expressly told me it’s the very thing I’m not to do. Right now, I’m still irritated at her attitude, so I will let her go and decide what to do about all this later. To be honest, I can feel my interest in all this cryptic bullshit starting to wane, impatient as I am. 

I can’t help but feel that maybe I’ve done the wrong thing by just letting her leave, however, going against such express last wishes made to me by my maker. I put this and everything else to the back of my mind, the two associates of mine and I heading into the office soon after Tyra’s departure to talk through some business in a more private environment.

Once we’re done discussing a current matter within area five four hours later, the only thing I have on my mind are two pressing F’s. I need to feed and fuck. Here’s where Deborah comes in handy. I should probably change her job title to casual lover since she spends more time down in the basement with me than she does behind the bar, but she’ll suffice until something better comes along, I suppose.

“Thanks, Eric. Until next time.” she tells me at just gone 4:30am, six hours after we came down here. She pulls her dress back over her head and arranges it, walking over to me and running her tongue around my nipple a few times, kissing it and then letting herself out. I like how that’s as close to affection as she gets, it suits me well. 

After picking up my clothes I move at speed until I’m in my apartment, coming to a stop in the bathroom, dumping my clothes in the designated box and then stepping into my huge shower over in the corner, soaping away the smell of sweat, sex and Gucci perfume. I then wash my hair and watch as the suds slip down my chest, further down still as they run down my legs, the sight of two hands sliding around my waist attracting my attention.

Turning around, I see Tyra standing there, as naked as I, her hands trailing up my chest as her energy radiates into me, her silky, flaxen hair dampened as the overhead jet hits her. 

“You don’t hate me that much, then?” I question. She doesn’t reply, instead pulling me down to her level and kissing me, the transmission of energy intensifying by a thousand. 

Jolting out of the daydream I’d fallen into, I rinse the remaining traces of suds from my hair and get out, drying off and walking back out to stretch out on my front in the enormous bed backed against the east facing wall. I haven’t slept in a casket since I’ve had the luxury of a sub-terrain home. 

It took some getting used to, but now it’s a lot more comfortable than the confines of a casket. Even though when I’m asleep, I’m obviously as still and dead as you can get and don’t move at all until I wake again. 

Just as the thought of rest crosses my mind, I turn over under the covers and emerge to witness a sight that would make me jump if I were still a human. Godric sitting at the end of my bed. The sight of him, or rather the sight of his transparent, ghostly form is no shock to me, though. I did wonder if his spirit would visit me.

“When she is what you desire, I feel it very foolish of you to drive her away,” he tells me, looking amused.

“I didn’t drive her away. She left of her own volition,” I reply nonchalantly.

“Pinning people to a wall by their throat is often considered the catalyst to driving someone away though, Eric,” he chuckles softly. Fuck, it’s so good to see him again, even though he’s barely here.

“Be that as it may, but my interest over her only goes so far, as does my desire,” I state, watching him nod.

“It could be different, though. Maybe if you actually gave her a reason to want you. She’s not like other women, Tyra,” he tells me.

“How would you know?” I question.

“Just because I do. If you take the time to scratch the surface, you’ll realise why I sent her to you, everything will become clear if you keep looking. Keep searching, Eric. Everything you seek answers over is well within your grasp. In the meantime, there’s a certain blonde-haired lady who is owed an apology. A proper one, too. Not one of your bullshit ones.” 

He smiles at me as warmly as he always used to, getting up and walking away, his ghostly form fading to nothing. “Varför er du gör den här till jag?” I speak into the nothingness of my apartment. Why are you doing this to me? Before I can ponder that any further, I’m interrupted again by an actual presence this time, Pam.

“I heard you talking. Sorry, I didn’t disturb you on the phone, did I?” She asks after knocking and being told she may enter.

“No, you didn’t. Is everything done upstairs?” I reply simply, not eager to go into any details regarding my other worldly visitor.

“Locked up and all tidy, the girls have just left, too. What I did want to ask you, though, did Tyra bring a pair of shoes with her today? I lent them to her and I want to wear them tomorrow,” she replies, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

“Yes, they’re in the office,” I inform her.

“Good. I’ll have to thank her for returning them tomorrow evening,” she notes with a small nod.

“Tyra won’t be coming back tomorrow. She quit earlier this evening,” I inform her, watching her frown immediately.

“Why?”

“Because she and her smart mouth went too far, so I throttled her for it,” I reply casually, Pam immediately looking furious.

“Eric! You go too far sometimes!” she scolds.

“Maybe I did, yes. Look, I’ll call her or something, see if I can get her to come back as normal next Wednesday, give her some time. She is a good bookkeeper, for one thing,” I propose, my attitude somewhat changed after the ghostly visit from Godric.

“She wouldn’t have been here next Wednesday anyway, something about going to see a band called Deicide, I think they’re called, so she was going to do Thursday and Friday instead,” I’m informed, while I quickly process that information.

“Then guess where we’re going next Wednesday night?” I tell her, raising an eyebrow and watching her look momentarily amused.

“Stalker,” she teases, getting up and heading off in the direction of the door.

“Lesbian.” I mutter back, watching her stick her arm out behind her and give me the middle finger salute, something I can’t help but laugh softly at as she closes the door behind her. So, until next Wednesday night, then. 

**Tyra’s POV.**

“Well, would you look at that, Poontang. We’re tidy and clean at last. I guess quitting does have its advantages.” I tell my little cat, just a week after I walked out of my job as bookkeeper at Fangtasia, which is perhaps the best thing I’ve done in a while. 

I’m not missing the extra three hundred a week too much either, since the day after I told Eric where he could stick his job, I landed a new client anyway. It’s also given me a few more free hours, meaning I can keep my home, which although always clean, sometimes falls into disarray with the tidiness, tidy at a much more sedate pace. 

When I took Eric on as a client, I’d just lost one due to the recession, so his books filled that time nicely, but now that time is free again, I’ve decided to put it to good use, have a little ‘me’ time, relax a little. Yep, that’s how hard I work each and every day. I regard household chores as relaxing. 

I know I’m insane, but I’m happy in my madness. After pouring a handful of little cat paw shaped biscuits into Poon’s bowl, I put all of the cleaning products and tools back into the large cupboard in the corner of the kitchen, pulling out the ironing board so I can run the iron over the top I’ll be wearing tonight. Yeah, as soon as Dmitri and I hit that mosh pit, I’ll be so creased and sweaty that it won’t really matter, but I hate to go out in creased up clothes. Speak of the devil…

“Hey you! Yeah you, you fucking blind blonde who can’t park her car for shit!” he shouts as he comes crashing into my house like he owns the place.

“Shut your mouth and give me love, you magnificent bastard who can’t park his truck in the ample room given!” I yell back, walking across the kitchen once I’ve pulled my freshly ironed white vest top on to give him a bone crunching hug, or rather receive one. Dmitri is only my height, but about five feet wide and pure muscle. 

We always love to banter back and forth, insulting each other’s driving skills, nationalities and anything else we can think of while we’re at it. It’s all with a lot of affection though, as I stated previously, he and Anna are my best friends.

I treated him to a few beers, since I’m happy to stick to soda and drive, four of which he drinks before we hit the road, heading into Shreveport to get onto the freeway out to New Orleans, where the show is. I can’t help but think of Eric, being back on his turf. Bastard. Someone else has him on their mind too, it would seem.

“Anna told me you had an altercation with that vampire guy. Since I was trying to get my ass out of the door to be on time for work, I’m a little hazy on the details. What happened. Exactly?“ he asks me, while I frown momentarily, remembering being ripped out of my seat and pinned against the wall by my throat, which still aches a bit and has fingertip bruises on it still, seven days on. 

I explain the situation to him, including the fact that he doesn’t see me as just an employee either, also that he has no boundaries where bedding said employees comes into the equation either. He nods throughout my explanation, his fingers pressed to his chin in a thoughtful pose.

“I ought to put a fucking sharp stake right through him for that, fucking bastard,” he fumes, muttering everything apart from 'fucking bastard’ in Russian, a language I’m nearly fluent in, thanks to his tutoring.

“Hey, he’s a vampire. What did I expect for sitting there and blatantly pressing his buttons with my sass?” I reply with a shrug.

“You’re defending him after what he did? Jeez, Anna was right, you are hot for him,” he replies, looking like he’s bracing himself for a tirade. Which, despite myself, he gets.

“I am not hot for him! I just understand he is what he is, I understand why he did that to me. Understanding his nature isn’t condoning it, because I don’t! If I was, I would have stayed on as his bookkeeper and I didn’t. I quit. There we have it. Now, no more talk of Eric fucking Northman,” I explain a little sharply, turning to burst out laughing at Dmitri, who’s pressed himself against the passenger door as far as he can get away from me, pulling a pretend scared face and making a cross with his fingers.

“Jesus Christ! Touchy, much? That means one thing, you are hot for…” he begins.

“Dmitri!” I cut him off in warning.

“Okay, okay! No more talk of the dead dude,” he chuckles, shaking his head as he rearranges himself in his seat. I hate it when anyone brings Eric up, I really do. Why? I’m still kicking myself that the way he treated me wasn’t enough to quell the desire I’ve felt myself harbouring for him, that’s why. 

Quite the opposite, in fact, since as I reluctantly admitted to you at the time, it did turn me on, something I am kicking myself for. Why does danger and brutality appeal to me so damn much? I must have Viking blood in me or something. It’s entirely possible considering where I come from, the same country as he does.

Speaking of that magic word, it’s the fact that he’s a Viking that works the magic on me, and boy does he know it, too. Well, knew it, since he won’t be seeing me again anytime soon, or ever hopefully. 

By the time we arrive on the borders of New Orleans, Eric is far from my mind, feeling excitement at seeing the streets littered with Deicide fans while we drive along looking for a parking lot. Oh yes, bring on the carnage. 

Deciding that neither of us are that interested in seeing the support acts, we head to a bar literally just around the corner from the venue, sitting down and talking while he sinks a few beers and I enjoy my only alcoholic drink of the night, a small bottle of (thankfully imported) Guinness. 

We mainly talk about his impending fatherhood, but also make room for more interesting discussions revolving around music, until the time comes for us to leave. After entering the venue, we stake out our front and centre territory close to the stage, waiting, waiting, until the lights go up.

The venue is filled by almighty roar of guitars, coupled with the dry lung, bludgeoning vocals of the mighty Glenn Benton, Dmitri and I proceeding to go insane as the pit begins to circle, the mayhem beginning. No, I’m not a girly girl. I get my kicks shoving big fellas around in a crowd, putting myself in the place any other sane girl fears to tread. What can I say? I like carnage. 

**Eric’s POV.**

“Look at her. She’s all rage and strength. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I comment to Pam as we stand on the balcony at the Deicide show, watching Tyra below, a whirlwind of sweat drenched hair and fury. When we arrived, Pam said the best thing I could do would be to thrust a bottle of imported Guinness (her favourite drink, apparently) in her direction and give her the sincerest apology I could muster. 

That is something I do not plan on doing in public, or with Pam there ready to shoot her mouth off in a cavalier fashion, something she’s quite famed at doing. No, while I’m here I have only one desire, to watch her. No, it isn’t for a creepy or (as Pam called it) stalker-esque reason either. 

If I want to find out what she is, it’d be useful to see how she acts in different situations. Watching her fight her way through a whole crowd of people throwing each other around in the name of fun is perhaps the best setting of all to see how she works that unique brand of physical rage of hers. The rage I find so arousing I’m surprised I can keep it in check. 

It’s the juxtapose that does it, knowing what she’s capable of, what stirs her depths when on the surface, she is very much a cool, calm and collected woman. You wouldn’t think that the smartly dressed bookkeeper had such in her, if you saw her anywhere else but here. 

“Very much so. I bet she’s really something in bed, with that amount of fire. They usually are,” Pam replies, her eyes not leaving the subject of our conversation for a moment, her fangs out and touching her bottom lip. As much as she’s stated she enjoys the little friendship she’s building with Tyra, she still wants her.

“You’d probably get beat up and fucked all at the same time,” I muse.

“Oh, stop it. My pussy just started biting my damn leg off at the thought,” she admonishes, shoving me in the arm with her elbow and frowning. “You really want her bad, don’t you? I know that look. I’ve borne witness to that look for a hundred years. I bet it really pisses you off that she isn’t into vampires, huh?” 

“I’ll find some way to overcome it, should I ever find use for her,” I sniff casually.

“I bet your dick has found at least four by now. Catch up, Eric,” she replies, looking up at me and laughing a few short bursts as she shakes her head. “Don’t try to kid me, I’m too smart for that.”

“My interest is purely based on the fact that I still maintain she’s not human. No human could have this effect on me, as much as it pains to admit it, but there, I did. Now, shut the fuck up. I only told you because I know I won’t be able to deal with your incessant commentary or general nauseating babble on the subject of Miss Boden down there. So, leave it. Take that as a warning,” I chide, not humoured at all by her pressing on the matter.

“Eric, calm down. I understand it. I feel that inexplicable draw to her as well, that energy too. It isn’t just you. I’m beginning to think you’re right, because there’s no way a girl, tall and athletically built as she may be, can be that damn strong for one thing. With her, I don’t feel that nauseated repulsion I feel when humans are around either. It’s odd,” she comments, taking one last look down to see Tyra actually standing still, tying all her hair up and talking to a bunch of heavily tattooed guys she’s been throwing around for the last half an hour.

“It certainly is. Speaking of which, I’m feeling displeasure at being around so many of them whom I can’t openly bite. Stay if you like, but I intend on finding something to feed on and then leaving with it,” I inform her, watching her wave her hand casually in my direction.

“You’re not even going to go down and talk to her? I thought this was the reason of our night out?” She questions.

“No. The time and the place aren’t right. Don’t worry, though. I’ll get her back, so you won’t be missing your little friend for much longer,” I reply in a sarcastic, slightly condescending drawl.

“Don’t patronise me, Eric. Just because it isn’t beyond my capacity to be friendly,” she reminds me, while I laugh at her.

“Are you’re sure you’re okay if I leave you to find your own way back?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Go, I’m fine. Just leave me the car keys since only one of us has the ability to fly. It’ll do me good to have a night off from the old ball and chain.” I hand over the keys, Pam taking them with a wink before she turns her attention back to the crowd below. 

I make a start to leave, heading down the stairs and through the hallway, noticing a very attractive young girl talking to her friends who actually looks remarkably like Tyra. Her hair is bleached, though, Tyra’s isn’t. Just as I’m about to make my way over to her, I freeze, not wanting to move another step. No, a cheap imitation isn’t what I crave.

I want the real thing, so come hell or high water, in the end I’m going to get it. The first step I guess is that I have to try and coax her back into my employment first of all, and so off I fly to do just that. Or rather wait for her to return home first.


	8. Chapter 8

**Tyra’s POV.**

Wow. I think my eardrums would have burst if I hadn’t had the sense to jam a pair of earplugs in first, before Deicide even hit the stage. It doesn’t distort the sound, but that ringing you get in your ears after a really loud show has never appealed to me above the age of twenty, when I decided that even though I’m far from sensible in the pit, I’m sensible enough to protect my hearing.

I had an amazing time tonight, but can’t wait to get home, throw my exhausted, sweaty and a little bloody body into a nice, hot shower before bed. It’s a pity that has to be scuppered though by the sight before me when I turn my car into the drive.

“I don’t even care why you’re here or what you want, I don’t want to speak to you or see you again. Goodbye, Eric,” I tell him firmly as I walk right on past, Eric grabbing my wrist to halt me. “Get the fuck off me!’ I scream at him, more out of fear than anger. I don’t shout when I’m mad.

He loosens his grip a little, but doesn’t let me go, his eyes spotting something as he leans in closer to me and moves my hair from my neck with his other hand.

“I’m sorry, Tyra. I honestly am. Sorry I did that to you, it was wrong of me,” he says as he looks at the bruises his fingertips left, not sounding in the slightest bit like he means a word of it.

“Eric, I don’t care. You don’t even mean it anyway. Just let me go, please,” I state, irritated by his presence enough, let alone him grabbing me.

“No, I want you to accept my apology first. I fully acknowledge that no matter how smart your mouth is, you didn’t deserve what I did. I am honestly sorry, there’s no reason to be scared of me now either,” he says, his tone softening just a touch.

“I’m not scared of you,” I reply defiantly.

“Yes, you are. I can sense it, smell it. I know you haven’t been before, and that is something I’ve come to very much respect about you,” he tells me. Yeah, more bull crap he thinks he can use to try and charm me.

“I still don’t believe you,” I state, watching him look angry for a second before his face changes back to the blank expression he carries most of the time.

“I’ve waited here for the best part of an hour for you to return home. Do you really think a vampire like me would just sit around and waste his time like that, if all he had to offer the woman he was waiting for was some half assed apology he didn’t truly mean? You know I wouldn’t, so be nice and invite me in.”

I have to admit here, he really does have a point. Eric isn’t the type to sit and wait for anything, so I guess that shows me the weight of his apology. “Besides, I’d like to be sitting comfortably when I at least attempt to get my feisty little bookkeeper to come and work for me again.” He then adds, pulling a face with as much character I’ve ever seen, that then suddenly and shockingly, turns into a real smile.

Stupidly, the only fucking thing I can think of is how hot he looks when he smiles. Oh yes, I’m immediately furious at myself. He could throw a thousand words of apology at me, yet none would have affected me like when he smiled.

“Alright, I accept your apology. Won’t you please come in?’ I ask, feeling him let go of my wrist at last.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he comments, still smiling while I turn and unlock the door. Okay, what the hell am I doing? Am I really sure this isn’t a pile of bullshit? I don’t know, he’s probably been waiting all of five minutes for me and his ‘I waited for an hour’ story is a load of old crap he’s made up just to manipulate me. More to the point, why do I even care?

I care because he’s got in, that’s why. On some small level, attraction or otherwise, he’s wormed his way in. I’ve always been attracted to exactly what he is, beauty mixed evenly with brutality, all wrapped up in an 'I am what I am, and can be nothing else’ bow. He fascinates me, it’s not just the fact Vikings make me hot either.

Imagine the things he could tell me, should he choose to? He doesn’t exactly seem forthcoming about who he is, I can sense secretiveness there, but the things he must have seen throughout his long life? He could have me enthralled for hours.

“I’d offer you a drink, but since all you vampires can imbibe is blood and mine’s not on offer, I’m afraid I can’t. However, that’s a damn comfy couch over there, which I believe you requested,” I tell him as we walk in, hoping the offer of the comfy seat he so desires pacifies any other need he may have.

“That is a shame, but not to worry. I don’t need to feed quite so regularly these days. Besides, I did so much earlier this evening. You’re right, the couch is comfortable,” he tells me as he sits, picking up the current book I’m reading, about one Mr G. Khan and beginning to read the forward.

“You’ll have to excuse me; I really need to take a shower. I went to see Deicide tonight and now I’m covered in not only my own sweat, but that of about thirty different people,” I reveal, Eric looking up from the book he’s holding.

“If I hadn’t have seen you there with my own eyes, watching you wreaking one-woman carnage, that comment could have been taken in a completely different way,” he informs me, arching an eyebrow, his voice heavy with innuendo.

“You were there?” I question in disbelief. I can hardly believe it. He doesn’t look the type to frequent live music shows.

“Yes, I was. Not for the entire night, I left after Deicide had played for about forty minutes, right about the same time their vocalist admonished the stage diver. So, now you know I really am telling the truth, because I arrived outside your house at roughly 11:05pm. It’s now 12:15am.” I’m stunned into silence with his truth for a few seconds, long enough for him to speak again.

“Go and take your shower. I promise I’ll behave myself out here. However, I can’t promise I won’t be thinking about you being all naked and wet back there.” Ahhhh, Eric. You were doing so well.

“Now, you mentioned before that you wanted to try and talk me round and get me to come and take your account again. If you keep that talk up, I won’t,” I scold, pointing at him.

“You like it when I flirt with you, and I like it when you flirt with me. You’ve already told me you don’t want to have sex with me, so where’s the harm?” he asks, looking as innocent as a big, bad vampire can.

“Because I know you have trouble taking no for an answer. Pam told me it’s never sat well with you, being refused,” I inform him, remembering how she did in fact tell me those very words, how whenever Eric acts like that it amuses the hell out of her.

“You like it, don’t you?’ He presses, making me drop my head for a moment, looking back up at him and knowing full well all the time the seconds pass, he knows exactly what the answer is.

“I’m going for my shower now.” I feel like I’m either about to scream in frustration or burst out laughing at how embarrassed I am. It’s true, there’s certain things you really can’t hide from vampires. Their senses are way too sharp.

“If I change my mind and tell you I don’t want you to come back and work for me, can I join you?” He then asks me, while I just glare and storm off, leaving him laughing at me quietly, almost under his breath. Vampires don’t do full on chuckling. Well, he doesn’t at least. It’s more a few bursts of air through his nose and then back to deadpan. I can’t say I blame him.

Imagine if you were as old as him? Been there, done that, seen it all. I wouldn’t find many things amusing either. As I stand under the shower jet, turning the setting onto massage so the water pelts down in one current instead of hundreds, I move my aching arms and shoulders under the water and feel it hit the muscles nicely, also stinging the scratches on my arm I received from someone’s spiked cuff.

I then let my mind drift back to my guest in the lounge, wondering what the hell his fascination with me is. I’m not naive enough to think his apology or his desire for me to come and work for him again has anything to do with anything other than what he thinks I am.

I know this is his only interest in me, but yet when I walk back into the lounge, dressed in a nice, soft pair of white sweats and a simple black crop top, I find him taking more of an interest in me than I ever expected, finding him standing by the television, holding a framed photograph of me and my parents.

“I have to say, you look nothing like your mother or father,” he observes, carefully resting the picture down on the table by the side of the television and going to sit back down, while I take the armchair to the side.

“That’s because I’m adopted,” I reply, getting comfortable in my seat, tucking my feet underneath me and reaching for a small bottle of Evian I left on the floor earlier.

“Oh, I see. And your real parents?” he asks inquiringly.

“Dead,” I reply, with an air of 'I don’t want to discuss it’ in my tone that he doesn’t pick up on, or if he does, he doesn’t care.

“What happened to them?” he questions, surprisingly actually sounding interested.

“My dad drowned in a boating accident before I was born and my mother was murdered when I was six. I have no other biological family either, so I’m the last one left,” I reveal a little solemnly.

“I know how that feels, to be the only one left,” he replies, nodding momentarily.

“I suppose you would, being a vampire and outliving them all,” I note.

“I didn’t outlive them. They were murdered when I was still human.” I find such a revelation quite shocking, something that’s obviously very personal to him.

“I won’t ask how or why. Lord knows, I get fed up of being asked over my own situation. That’s your business and I won’t make it mine,” I state, watching him eye me sharply for a few moments, wondering instantly if I’ve said the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry that it happened to you, I know you vampires feel little to no emotion, but when you were human that must’ve hurt immeasurably,” I then add to sympathise, reaching out to him and resting my hand on his arm. I expect him to move, yet he doesn’t right away.

He stares right at me, his eyes going misty and blank for a second, like he’s not really there. He then comes round, pulling his arm away sharply and looking away, almost like he’s gathering his composure. How strange.

“Yes, it did,” is all he simply replies with, before silence falls over us again, the atmosphere in the room becoming denser as that silence continues. Eventually, he speaks again.

“So, what I came here for was to apologise and ask you to come and work for me again. One part of that task is done, how about the other? Can I expect to see you there in the office next Wednesday?” he asks, his tone and demeanour both returned to normal

“On one condition,” I stipulate

“Name it.”

“The flirting stops, and I do mean totally stops. I’ve told you I don’t ever take my clients to bed with me, you’re no exception. If you can deal with that then sure, I’ll be there on Wednesday,” I state, watching him look thoughtful for a moment before he smiles. Wow, twice in half an hour. Steady on, Eric.

“I notice you no longer use the excuse you aren’t interested in vampires there?” he observes

“Eric,” I begin to protest.

“You have a deal, but you have to do one thing first. Admit you want me as much as I want you and I’ll stop flirting with you,” he requests, sticking me right between a rock and a very hard place.

Admit I’m attracted to him and have the flirting stop, but still have him win one over on me, or deny it, and have it continue to a point where I quite possibly might get sick of telling him no? He’s right when he says I like it when he flirts with me, because I can no longer lie about that. I do.

“I’m not admitting to a thing,” I reply with confidence, watching him lean forward in his seat, until he’s much closer to me.

“Well then, I’ll see you on Wednesday. Don’t expect me to behave myself either,” In a blink and wish a whoosh, he’s gone, disappearing through my open window and leaving me sitting here perhaps more confused than I ever was before. He’s one hell of a complex vampire, that’s for sure.

Is this why I’m drawn to him? Who knows! One thing I know right now is that I fancy catching up on a bit of world news before I drag my overtired ass to bed. Actually, fuck it. I’ll go and watch TV in bed for a change, an indulgence I don’t let myself have nearly as much as I should.

I start with the best of intentions, but isn’t long before the dull monotone of the newscaster acts as a powerful sleeping pill, sending me off to sleep way before I expected, being woken a time later by something I equally didn’t expect.

Opening my eyes, I see television flickering in the corner, turning it off before stretching my arms and legs. Suddenly, I freeze and lie stiller than a statue when I feel two hands start to stroke their way up my thighs, pushing them apart as a set of lips lay kisses to my hip bone.

I shake beneath the touch of my unseen lover, my entire body jolting as a wet tongue meets my clit, a pair of cool lips wrapping around it and beginning to suck. My back arches off the bed as I groan, helpless but to feel anything but pleasure, each little quick beat of that tongue on my clit coupled with it being sucked at the same time incredible.

It’s so good I never, ever want it to stop. Lamentably it does, though, the talented mouth kissing its way back up my body, emerging from under the covers.

“See? You really do want me. Didn’t take much to persuade you, did it?” Eric says, smiling down wickedly at me before I feel his mouth at my neck.

“When did you come back?” I ask him sleepily, feeling his lips now at my cheek.

“I didn’t leave.” His mouth moves in a torrid flutter of kisses back down my neck again, the sound of fangs popping out clearly audible before I feel the almighty burning pain of them sinking into my neck.

“Fuck!” I gasp, sitting up in bed, wide awake, clammy and alone. Also, very, very aroused. No. I don’t want this to start happening!

I don’t want dream about him as well as spend my waking moments thinking about him as well. Yeah, I want him. I’ll lay my cards on the table and admit it. However, he’s so fucking arrogant, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it either. Even if that is to my own detriment. Or is it?

**Eric’s POV.**

Coming to a stop within my apartment, I feel like I need to catch my breath, a contradictory action when I do not need to breathe.

Something just happened then, something that - if I could feel fear any longer - would have frightened the hell out of me. Instead, it just made me even more curious and also gave me the biggest feeling of chills I’ve felt in a long, long time. Many centuries, to be precise.

When Tyra put her hand on my arm, as usual I felt that amazing energy running out of her and into me. When I looked into her eyes, though, all I could see was the faces of my mother, father, brother and infant sister all flashing through my mind, accompanied by the sound of one lone wolf howling.

It was so, so strong I could barely stand it feeling either, something she transmitted into me, that sense of familiarity about her was so powerful at that moment, it’s like the answer was on the tip of my tongue, but I still had no idea what it was. What is she? Just what the fuck is Tyra Boden? Why too, when I looked at her, did I see the family I have missed and mourned so much for a thousand years?

I have to take drastic action here. I have to know her more, know her better and figure out why she affects me like this. I need to know why she’s been sent to me, what she is. I need to know it all. There’s only one thing I can do.


	9. Chapter 9

**Tyra’s POV.**

Six weeks. Six weeks have passed by now since I returned to my post as bookkeeper at Fangtasia and in that time I think I’ve seen Eric about three times, if that. According to Pam, he’s up to his eyes in ‘vampire politics’ right now, matters which she cannot divulge, apparently. Not that I’d ever press her or information, it isn’t my business, is it?

In the time I’ve returned, I have found myself becoming further trusted by the lady vampire, forging a bond that does equal an actual friendship with her, even if she does still keep dropping hints about wanting to bed me. Nowadays, she does it in a humorous, only half serious way, though.

Let me get one thing straight, it isn’t a typical friendship by any means, but then again neither of us is typically female. We don’t sit and giggle whilst watching female oriented TV shows or anything like that, we don’t go on trips to the mall or out for cocktails (blood in Pam’s case) or do any of that typical girly crap. We have a twist on it, though.

“Now that you should get, it’s more than worth what he wants for it, too. It’s authentic, I can tell you that better than he can,” she advises, coming to my side at the late-night flea market we’re currently visiting, shopping for our shared passion of old and weird looking trinkets and knick knacks.

Right now the mirror I’m looking at fits that bill, beautiful and old gothic style (none of this new goth dragon or pentacle themed shit for me, I mean real gothic) made when Pam was about three years old, making it a hundred and… she’ll drain me dry if I reveal the last digits in its age. She keeps such a closely guarded secret.

She’s still very much human in that respect, overall much more human in nature than Eric, even though you never forget for a second that she’s a vampire. She’s not warm and cuddly at all, which suits me well because neither am I.

“Hmm, yeah okay. I’ll take it,” I decide, passing it over to the man hovering behind the stall, who takes it and begins to carefully wrap it up, while I count the two hundred bucks he wants for it. That’ll be me going without lunch for the next week to afford it.

I’ve had a couple of clients not pay me on their invoices as yet, compounded by the fact that my mortgage payment is due. Things are a little tight, so bearing this in mind, it was pretty stupid of me to just buy that mirror, but what the hell. I’d have only sat and thought about it and kicked myself for not buying it as soon as I got home.

“Did you find anything at that pricey vintage clothing stall?” I ask, since that’s where she’s just come from.

“I did. A couple of corsets, one for you, too,” she replies.

“Pam, you didn’t have to,” I tell her, grateful all the same, though.

“Oh, I absolutely had to! Watching Eric being able to pogo himself along on his own dick when he sees you in it is more than worth what it cost,” she chuckles, making me roll my eyes and laugh with embarrassment.

“Then I’m not wearing it at work,” I say resolutely as we walk along to the next stall, Pam loosely linking her arm with mine.

“In that case, you’ll come and meet me at the bar one night wearing it. Either way, I have to have the amusement value of watching him squirm when he sees how much it’ll make your tits look like they’re levitating,” she suggests, mischief written all over her face. She makes no secret of the fact that even though she has a hell of a lot of love and respect for Eric as her maker, she loves getting a rise out of him. In this case, it’d be a literal one.

“I’m not interested in doing anything else to add fuel to the flames of Eric’s lust, thank you,” I reply, shaking my head.

“Oh, but you are. You love it when he flirts with you and despite everything you say, you do flirt back, Tyra. Why not just give up? I can tell you now, he won’t give up. When he wants something, he always gets it. Besides, you might just enjoy it. From what I’ve been told, he’s not exactly bad, and not exactly small where it counts either,” she confides, making me almost choke on the mouthful of water I’ve just taken from my ever-present bottle in my purse.

“Now, is that not incentive enough for you to lighten the hell up, quit throwing me the 'I can’t because he’s a client’ line and just go and have sex with him? Rest assured, he’d be waiting with very, very open arms. I remember the last woman he wanted and couldn’t have.

“It was 1935, she was another vampire called Christine, who was impossibly beautiful but nonetheless, not interested in Eric. He went through four girls a night, usually all at once too, just to quell his want for her. He’s behaving like that all over again now, except its Deborah who’s mostly getting the brunt of his frustrations,” she then adds.

I swear to god! This is the only thing that annoys me about her, the fact that she just will not let go of this idea that I should fuck Eric.

“Will you quit it? If I was going to have sex with him, I’d have done it by now,” I fume, registering the fact I’m bordering on shrill, which only amuses my vampiric friend further.

“Never, it’s too much fun.” Giving me a very devious look, which only makes me roll my eyes for the second time in ten minutes, she smiles and shoves me in a playful way, shaking her head. What else can I say? I’m beginning to think it’d be easier to just have sex with him and get it out of the way so I can carry on as normal.

Here’s the thing, though. As much as I’m not some soft romantic at heart, a girl who wants to be treated like a princess or anything like that, I do want to be valued as more than just a piece of meat. Sadly, this is exactly how Eric views women and if I were to become involved with him, I’d want him to be able to offer me more than that, which isn’t fair of me to expect to get either when I know full well he isn’t capable of it.

This is something I voice to Pam on the drive back to my place, it being a Sunday and Fangtasia being closed, meaning she has tonight off.

“Does this mean your interest in him goes beyond physical then? Oh, my,” she comments lightly.

“No, no that’s not what I’m saying. I don’t even know him well enough to judge that. What I’m saying is I don’t like just hopping into bed with someone because all they think of me is that I’m hot. I’m worth more than that and as I said, he can’t offer it,” I reply earnestly.

“He does have respect for you, though. He told me as much. He likes how you stand up to him, how you aren’t scared. He seldom ever finds people like that. I do agree with what you have to say, he couldn’t give you what you’re looking for in other respects.”

That’s the last time Eric’s name is mentioned this evening, but when you speak of the devil, it isn’t long before he appears again.

“What are you doing?” I ask sharply as I see Eric’s reflection in the computer monitor, watching him reach down to press two hands to my shoulders. It’s Wednesday, three days since my flea market outing with Pam, where he was last discussed.

“I could have been being nice to you and giving your shoulders a massage, but since you’ve snapped at me, I guess you’ll never know,” he replies in his usual flat tone, with just a touch of humour there too.

“Lies. You were doing that thing, feeling my energy or whatever the hell it is I do to you, which makes me feel kind of violated in a way, I must say,” I tell him as he takes his hands off my shoulders, leaning in close to the computer.

“You need to deduct five hundred from that week as a personal expense. I didn’t have time to note it down,” he notes efficiently, suddenly turning his head to the side and staring at me for a few moments, making me feel like my cheek is burning.

“You have absolutely no idea how amazing your energy feels to vampires. I’ve asked others here who’ve met you, it isn’t just me and Pam who think it,” he then adds.

“What does this energy feel like?” I ask, curious to know why I appear to be to vampires what catnip is to felines.

“A little bit like an orgasm,” he reveals, looking me dead in the eyes with the last word of his sentence, a slight smile tilting the corner of his mouth. “But much gentler, less explosive. Almost healing.”

“If only I felt the same thing from you, I might fuck you then,” I can’t help but tease him with, really actually only meaning to think it. I watch as his eyebrows rise a little, Eric staring at me potently, leaning in close until his mouth is so close to my ear, I can almost feel his lips graze the lobe.

“You will, one day. One day the temptation of knowing you could have all this between your legs, pleasuring you more than any other man ever has or will, for hours on end will just be too much for you to refuse.” He whispers, straightening up again and winking at me before turning and leaving the office, while I sit here feeling like someone sucked all the air out of my lungs. Half an hour later, the mood changes totally when he comes back.

“Out,” he spits, pointing at the door as he and two other vampires enter.

“I beg your pardon?” I ask, looking up.

“Out, now! Go talk to Pam about shoes or whatever, just get the fuck out. I need my office,” he replies briskly, leaving me no choice but to look disgruntled as I get up and leave. I swear, he has the biggest split personality in the world. You never quite know where you stand with him, even though he’s never anything short of brutally honest.

“What’s with your face?” Pam snorts when I arrive by her side at the door.

“Eric being hostile,” I reply, taking a sip of the glass of rarely enjoyed Coke I got at the bar on my way over. I kind of wish it was alcoholic, but I know when I’m as tired as I am at present all I’ll want to do is curl up and go to sleep if I have even one small drink.

“He’s on usual form, then,” she replies, with obvious affection for Eric, yet a little sympathy for me, too.

“Oh yes,” I concur, before her attention is called away to stop two very underage looking people from entering the bar, the eventual showing of their fake ID cards not enough to fool her and scuttling away hurriedly when she gives them a dangerous look.

“A lawyer, my ass. He didn’t even look old enough to stand up in court as the accused!” she announces as she comes back to my side. We stand and engage in chatter for about half an hour, until I see the office become free again as Eric and his associates exit it.

I swiftly head back down to continue my work in peace without any interruptions, flirty, obstreperous or otherwise. Because of this it only takes me another twenty five minutes to finish my work load, looking forward to heading out and straight around to Lafayette’s place for dinner.

I take him up on his dinner invites as often as I can. True to his main trade, that man is a superb cook and since it’s one thing I just cannot do (toast and a simple pasta dish are about the only thing I can get right) it makes a change from getting a quick take out meal or waiting in a diner or restaurant all by myself just to eat alone too.

However, it seems my getaway from the bar isn’t going to be as quick and clean as I’d like, as when I’m making my way towards the doors, one of Eric’s dancers/bar workers Ginger comes running out from behind the bar at me. She’s very sweet for someone so stupid.

“Tyra! Y'all don’t happen to be any good with a needle and thread, do ya? I bust my shoe and I’ve gotta get up and dance in ten minutes and I don’t have a spare pair!’ she whines at me with urgency, showing me the broken ankle strap on her PVC high heeled pumps.

“Sure, I’ll give it a go,” I reply, taking the shoe and threaded needle and following her behind the bar, taking a seat right at the very end and seeing what I can do with her shoe.

“Thank you so much, sugar!” she beams, looking greatly relieved that I’ve been able to come to her aid. I double up the thread so it’s extra strong, beginning to sew the snapped piece of strap containing the dainty silver buckle back onto the long piece of the strap. It’s as I’m busy doing this that I feel a presence by my side, turning to see Deborah looking at me curiously.

“How does it feel?” she asks.

“How does what feel?” I question, looking up at her away from Ginger’s little shoe.

“To be wanted so badly by something so powerful,” she then states as I follow her gaze and turn to see Eric, sat above his disciples on the stage, staring right at me.

“'You tell me. You’re the one fucking him,” I reply, not nastily or jealously at all, though. Deborah is alright. I like her.

“I wouldn’t know, doll. He’s never looked at me in the same way he looks at you. Not even when he’s inside me,” she reveals, before a customer gains her attention and she excuses herself politely to go serve him and his friend’s drinks, leaving me to turn my attention back to the size four shoe in my hands.

As I sew, I feel Eric’s gaze get heavier, and heavier…and heavier. The air feels thick right now, dense, like I can’t breathe through it because of his continual gaze. Or it could just be the fact that since I’ve been sitting out here in the bar, a gaggle of vampires have drifted closer to me, all frequenting tables near me or propping up the bar near to where I’m sat at the end.

I feel like I’m on display at a museum or something, having them all stare at me with keen interest, spurring me on to sew up the shoe strap at double speed, giving it back to Ginger and getting the hell out of here as quickly as I can. I attempt to, at least.

“Shit, Tyra we just got a late delivery and I know you want to get off home as quickly as possible, but would you mind just carrying this case down to the store room? The other girls and I can manage the rest,” Pam asks me, with a nervous looking courier behind her, who has likely just been chewed out for bringing a delivery of Fangtasia merchandise so late.

“Yeah, no problem.” Swinging my bag over my shoulder a little further so it doesn’t slip down my arm, I pick up the box full of t shirts and transport it across towards the stairs which lead to the store room. As I walk across, I notice that Eric is no longer present, but it’s a damn shame I don’t notice that someone has spilled a drink right next to the open stock room door when I get there and slip.

The box goes up in the air as I grasp at air, trying to steady myself but not managing to save myself from the long, painful descent down the iron staircase, feeling things snap, tear and pull as I try to grasp onto something, everything going hazy when my body comes to a stop at the bottom, my head being the first thing to land as it pounds hard off the concrete floor.

**Eric’s POV.**

It worked. I really didn’t expect her to take quite such a nasty fall down the stairs that lead to the stock room, though. I heard Pam asking for her help to carry the boxes down and saw the opportunity I’ve been looking for to give Tyra my blood and heal her immediately.

I moved quickly through the bar to spill a glass of water right in front of the steps and then waited in the darkness to sweep in, ready to heal her. However, I was only expecting her to slip over and bang her head on the first part of the staircase. It never crossed my mind that at being nearly six feet tall in heels, her long body would mean she’d fall much further than I thought, around the L shaped bend and straight down the thirty iron steps that lead to the concrete below.

Now I have to deal with the fact her broken and battered body, bleeding out heavily from her head, is lying motionless at the foot of the stairs, with Ginger screaming in horror as she races down the stairs after her.

I reach her side first, assessing the damage, which is much, much more considerable than I ever intended. Oh well, she’ll hurt for a bit until my blood heals her, but the main thing here is that I’ll be able to finally gain a deeper understanding of who or what she is if she drinks of me. This is what is most pertinent to me, not her injuries. Even though of course, I do have to make it look like a give a shit that she’s badly hurt.

“Oh my god, she’s bleeding out and her back is all mangled! Someone, help her! Help her! She’s gonna die!” Ginger screams, as suddenly Pam’s blur comes to a stop in front of us, and eyes widening a little as she takes in Tyra and her extensive injuries.

“Eric, her head,” she begins, while I sit down at her side and gently cradle her head in my lap, pressing my fingers to her temple to stem the large gash that’s pumping her blood out all over the floor.

“I know, Pam. Do me a favour and get rid of the harpy,” I ask, nodding at a hysterical Ginger while Pam does what she’s been instructed, giving Tyra one last concerned (or as concerned as a vampire can look) glance before she leaves. I look down to see her move slightly, a heavy moan of agony escaping her lips, eyelids scrunching tightly as her head lolls around, barely conscious.

“Tyra, listen to me or you’re going to die. Your head is gushing blood and your vertebrae are broken and sticking out of your back, amongst other injuries. You have to drink my blood, quickly,” I tell her, faking all the urgency she might be able to hear in my voice. Like I said, I have to sound convincingly concerned.

I bite my wrist and then hold it to her mouth, watching my blood drip onto her lips as she parts them, just enough strength to latch on and drink, while I do the same to the gash on her head that’s pulsing blood out all over us and the floor. Stem the bleeding and get to taste her at the same time, yes, I’m cunning.

Once she’s drank enough from me to heal, I pull my wrist away with a little struggle (you’d be surprised just how palatable thousand year old vampire blood is, because of how it makes you feel inside when you drink it) while watching the gash in her head begin to knit itself together, her blood running through me fully and filling me with the most peculiar feeling.

Suddenly, I feel my own power triple by what feels like a thousand, coursing through my veins and making me feel so strong, I feel as if I could destroy whole planets, my senses sharpening even more. I feel so much more alive. Not human, but alive.

Yet with this comes something I’ve never experienced as a vampire, something I can feel creeping over me like a fog. Guilt. Tremendous, all-consuming guilt, coupled with a sudden genuine concern for her wellbeing I haven’t felt towards anyone as a vampire, not ever. What have I done to her?

“Eric, don’t let me die,” she croaks weakly. Even though she’s healing, she’s still barely conscious, half here, half not.

“I’d never let anything bad happen to you, ever,” I affirm with conviction, stroking her face, trailing blood all over her lily white cheeks. The guilt keeps on hitting me, coupled with the most intense, overwhelming feelings of concern. I cannot block them out or make them cease either. It’s like someone has cast a spell over me.

I’m suddenly not myself anymore. I’m now someone who deeply cares for the wellbeing of the beautiful blonde in his arms, and I can’t stop it. More than that, I don’t want it to stop either. The pull I feel to her is strong as I lift her up in my arms carefully, moving at speed to my apartment, gently placing her down on the bed and lying next to her. I don’t even care that her blood is staining the very expensive bed linen set, nothing matters to me other than her welfare. Everything else has just fallen away.

“Try not to move, you’re going to be okay. Everything’s okay now, Tyra. You fell down the stairs, but you’ll be fine. You’re healing.” I tell her soothingly as she tries to move one of her arms, which I guess is shattered at the elbow, judging how horrific it looks. Vampire blood may heal you, and mine at a faster rate than most, but it does take a little time.

I lie here and watch as her legs mend themselves, her arms and fingers all knitting back together, all the cuts she suffered now fully healed over. I know it’s her blood making me feel like this, but I can’t stop it, the feeling of concern over her and loathing at myself for doing something so ugly to someone so beautiful.

I see that beauty in her a million times more strongly now, my attraction to her soaring. It does finally seal the deal for me that she’s definitely not human, too. No human blood would affect a vampire like this…and I nearly killed whatever she is. How could I do that to her?

“Try to sleep, I know you’re fighting it but you must rest,” I instruct softly, watching her trying to open her eyes and lift her head.

“Stay with me?” she mutters quietly, her beautiful eyelashes fluttering, my blood sedating her nicely. It works how it needs to, either bringing you up or pulling you down. In Tyra’s case, she needs tranquillity, so therefore my blood adapts to that need. It’s little wonder some refer to it as magic.

“I’m not leaving your side, I promise. I’ll be right here when you wake up,” I confirm, stroking her head and resting mine on top of the pillow above hers, my other arm carefully wrapping around her. She links her fingers through mine and holds my hand with as much strength as she can muster, turning her head and kissing my throat.

“Good, I don’t want you to go. Just stay right here, with me.” She whispers hazily, while I nod, squeeze her hand as tight as I dare to and lie here with her, stroking her head until she’s asleep.

By her side is where I remain, long after she’s fallen asleep. Leaving her alone is not an option. I physically can’t leave her, I just can’t. Whatever she is, her blood has pulled me a thousand times closer. Also, it would seem mine has had a similar effect too, for she seemed no more able, willing, or wanting in desire to pull away from me either.


	10. Chapter 10

**Tyra’s POV.**

When I open my eyes, at first I forget where I am, my head cloudy still. As I come around more, I remember the painful dive I took down the store room staircase, Eric saving me from the injuries that probably would have killed me. Eric, the very vampire I turn my head to look at, happiness flooding me when he smiles. 

“Hello,” he whispers, hand stroking my cheek while I smile back up at him, something feeling very, very different between us. It’s like something has formed yet melted away at the same time. “How do you feel now?” he then asks me, still stroking my face while instinctively rather than consciously I reach up and curl my fingers around his forearm, gently stroking the hard muscle beneath the cold skin. 

He feels lovely, just cool in temperature is all. How could I ever find him a turn off just because his body temperature is lower than mine? Also, why are we suddenly acting like this with one another? More pertinently, why do I really, really like it?

“Better. Tired, but better,” I say, watching him nod.

“You will do. I had to give you a great deal of my blood to heal, so you’ll be sleepy for a time.” I just smile in reply, while I feel my insides slip into a kind of euphoria.

Turning over onto my side, I curl into him, Eric welcoming me into his embrace, holding me as he strokes my back and hair with affection. Apparently this is how some people get after drinking vampire blood, flooded with happiness and affection, but why is he acting the same way? Is my blood doing things to him? You know, I don’t care right now. All I care about is that he stays here with me. I don’t want him to go.

“It’s just occurred to me, I never asked you what part of Sweden you were from,” he suddenly says, while I think it funny but still, nice of him to ask. Random, too.

“I’m from Oskarshamn. What about you?’ I reply and ask, my hand resting on his chest, nails stroking that crease between his pectoral muscles, tickling the smattering of soft, blonde hair.

“Oland,” he replies, as I feel his hand idly begin to move down to my lower back. Mmm, that feels nice. 

“Ahh, the windiest place on earth. I used to visit it a lot as a child, my grandmother lived in Bornholm, where my mother was originally from so we used to get the ferry across to visit her. We’d go down to Oland a lot. I don’t remember much of it because I was so small at the time, but I remember it being very beautiful,” I state, remembering it all as best I can. It feels wonderful, the comfortableness of talking to him like this, more intimately.

“Very beautiful and yes, draughty,” he agrees. “You know, I used to travel between Oland and Borgholm quite often with my father, visiting the Jarls of the territories he presided over. I started out accompanying him as a child of ten and finished a man of thirteen. As I’m sure you’re already aware, Vikings were considered men at that age.” He continues, while I nod. 

I did know, since I take a big interest in the history of my country and its people, one of whom I’m lying in the arms of right now. Yet somewhere in my blood fuelled haze, this tranquil, high plane I feel I’m on with him, I know it isn’t real. It feels like a dream, not real life. At any moment now, I’m expecting him to snap back and leave me up here in bliss by myself, except it doesn’t happen. 

We lie here talking, swapping little pieces of information about each other, until against my will since I don’t want to go back to sleep, I begin to yawn and can’t stop.

“You need to rest, as do I,” he says, moving his arm from around me and wiping a spot of blood that’s just about to run from his nose.

“Why is your nose bleeding?” I ask.

“It’s called the bleeds. It happens when a vampire doesn’t have adequate rest. I didn’t sleep at all today,” he informs me, while I glance at my watch and check the time. It’s 11:46pm, meaning since I was just about to leave at six thirty I’ve been down here with him for almost five hours. “I’ll be back in a minute, I have to fetch you something appropriate to wear to bed. You cannot sleep in bloodied clothes.” He tells me, sounding efficient yet caring at the same time, smiling and taking my hand to kiss my fingertips.

He gets up, exiting the apartment and leaving me here to try and ponder all of this, why we’re acting so closely, but not sexually at all. It’s purely affectionate. It’s strange too, but before I can think on how strange these circumstances are any further, Pam enters, carrying a small neatly folded pile of clothes in her arms.

“These are to sleep in and these are for the morning. The bathroom is just back there, go get changed and have a wash. I’ll take the blood soiled clothes for you.” She then takes a simple, black silk top and a matching pair of shorts and passes them to me, giving me a gentle push in the back to help as I get up slowly. 

“Thank you.” I say, stretching before picking up my bag too and heading for the bathroom, where I find the biggest free standing bathtub in existence, in a gorgeous bathroom suite made from black marble, with a white sink, toilet (even though he doesn’t need one being a vampire and all, but I guess it just comes with the suite) and a huge shower in the corner. 

I wash my face quickly, removing the trails and streaks of dried blood that were there, also cleaning a little that ran into my hair too, managing to comb the rest out since it’s dried. I tie it all up and then take my small tube of hand lotion, using it for both my hands and face since I have nothing else with me before taking off my clothes and changing into the ones donated to me.

“You rest now, he’ll be back soon. See you tomorrow.” Pam says, taking my clothes and surprising me greatly by kissing her fingertips and pressing them softly to my forehead. In terms of affection, that’s big for her. 

I climb beneath the covers, loving the feel of how soft the cotton is against my skin and guessing they must be Egyptian like mine, except way more expensive. I bled on them, too, and he didn’t even shout. I turn the pillow over and lie down on my back, blinking heavily and trying to keep my eyes awake and wide, so I can see Eric before I fall asleep again. 

As if I summoned him silently, he suddenly appears at the side of the bed, undressing to a pair of tight fitting black boxer shorts and getting in next to me. I turn onto my side as he moves closer, wrapping an arm around me and kissing my shoulder. Curled around me, he feels so good, just as good as he looks. His physique is incredible.

“Sleep well.” Those are the last words I hear before happily drifting off.

Since the lamp in the very far corner of the apartment was left on last night, when I wake up I have just enough light to look at my watch and see its 6:15am. I’m still lying under Eric’s arm, which like the front of his body at least, is warm to the touch. Apparently if a vampire spends enough time next to a heat source, they will retain warmth. It feels nice. 

Moving his arm carefully, I slide out of bed, gathering the clothes Pam lent me and picking up my bag before making my way to the bathroom quietly to dress and wash my face. I feel fresher for that in an instant, chewing on a few sticks of gum too since I obviously have no toothbrush with me. Strangely enough, though, Eric has one. 

“Ahhhh, the smelling like a butchers shop thing.” I mutter to myself, remembering what Pam said when I saw her with a toothbrush in her mouth one evening. Apparently, a sole diet of blood makes their mouths smell bad unless they clean their teeth. I can imagine, not that I particularly want to, though! 

Stuffing the loaned clothes into my bag so I can do the decent thing and wash them for her, I walk back out to stand by the bed for a few moments, looking down at a sleeping Eric and wondering, if not hoping a little, that the kindness he showed me last night will last. 

As hard as it is to admit to myself, I liked it. However, I’m scared to like it. Somewhere in the back of my head, I have a feeling that it’s all too good to be true, one that I suppose will be confirmed to me to be true or not right now, since he’s just opened his eyes.

“Are you leaving? Why?” he asks, moving over to the side of the bed my body once occupied and reaching out for me, his hand stroking my inner thigh. I guess I have my answer.

“I need to get home. My cat needs to be fed, among other commitments. But I’ll be back later on,” I tell him, watching him smile and nod.

“Until later, then. by the way you’ll need a key to let yourself out, there’s one on an orange tag behind the register in the bar, use that and put it back when you return,” he informs me.

“I will. Also, thank you again, Eric. You saved my life,” I say, so grateful to him for acting quickly and looking after me in the aftermath.

“Don’t mention it. You look beautiful this morning, by the way,” he compliments me with, while I bend down to his level and lay a kiss on his forehead, feeling his hand stroke my cheek. We pause like this, our faces pressed together, lips skimming in the briefest of kisses before I straighten up.

“Thank you. I’ll see you tonight.” Letting myself out of his apartment and heading upstairs, I quickly locate the key he told me about from behind the bar before opening the front door and letting myself out into the bright, March morning, heading over to my car while feeling like a new woman. Eric’s blood is certainly healing, even though whatever else it did to me has worn off a little now. Also, I still have that dancing on air feeling that something about me, be it my blood or otherwise, has changed him in his demeanour considerably. I cannot help but feel a little special because of that. 

To be honest, I can’t wait to see him later. I don’t know what’s happening between us, but it just feels so different now. Mainly because not once all through the night, did he try one sexual advance with me. I didn’t feel such over him, either. 

Even at the sight of his body, so beautifully rippled with muscles that make him look like a Greek god, I didn’t feel any wanton aches of lust for him. I was just so happy he was by my side, as he seemed to be with me as well. Even still, no matter that he was just the same when he awoke before I left, I still somehow get the feeling this is all too easy, all too good to be true. I guess only time will tell.

As soon as I’m home, I throw all of Pam’s clothes into the wash (the red shirt and black pants she gave me to wear today wouldn’t have needed the wash, but I ended up spilling a takeout coffee I bought en route home all down myself) and change into a new pair of grey sweats I bought whilst out shopping with Anna and baby Bella recently, throwing on a cropped top as well, ready for a little workout. 

Once done and showered, I lay some food out for Poon ready for when she’ll arrive home in the early evening, while sending a quick apology text to Lafayette for standing him up last night, explaining that I will visit him later to tell him why I was a no show for dinner. After that, I decide to go for a jog through the forest, since it’s early still and I’m full of energy. 

Last night I nearly died, multiple fractures wrecking my body and now, just twelve hours later, here I am running hell for leather through the beautiful forest, nothing hurting, nothing aching. Vampire blood is remarkable stuff. It’s just a shame that the vampire who gave it to me doesn’t stay as remarkable as I remember him to have been to me, though, when I see him again eleven hours later.

“Here, all freshly washed,” Pam announces as she comes into the office, placing my neatly folded pile of clothes down on the desk opposite me, while I pick up the bag containing hers and pass it over to her.

“Same,” I reply as she takes the bag from me with a little smile.

“So, you’re all fully rested and recovered now?” she asks, checking over me with curious eyes.

“Yes, I am,” I confirm, watching her begin to smile a little more.

“I’m dying to know. You spent the night with Eric, did…” she begins before I cut her up.

“No, Pamela!” I begin. “He kept his hands to himself, as did I. Actually, he was the perfect gentleman.” I can see her attempting not to look at surprised as she feels by such a revelation, but ultimately failing. 

“Oh, that’s…strange,” she comments, looking quite baffled.

“It was, very strange indeed. It was nice though, to see a different side of him,” I reply, watching her nodding, looking thoughtful before she looks between me and the wall a few times, like there’s something she wants to tell me, but she doesn’t know whether she should.

“Tyra, be careful.” This is all she manages in the end, giving me a look that says way more than her words before she gets up and leaves. I know I can trust Pam with this, at her age she hasn’t totally forgotten her human emotions and I see that in her being a friend to me, warning me like that. It doesn’t take me very long to see how right she was when she told me to be careful, either.

I’m just a few sums away from being finished when Eric comes into the office at 6:15pm. I look up and smile at him, receiving only cold indifference in return. He just folds his arms and stares at me.

“Are you going to be long?” He asks, his tone efficient and crisp, the usual again.

“About ten minutes, then I’m done for the week,” I reply, not looking away from the computer screen.

“Hurry the fuck up, I have business to attend to and you’re in my way, as per usual,” he sneers. Oh yeah, Eric’s back. Whoever that lovely vampire was who held me in his arms all night long, he’s vanished entirely. 

“Of course.” I could be sarcastic or snarky, but it’s like I’ve had all the battle sucked out of me. I just cannot be bothered to go head to head with him, but maybe I can appease him. I quickly finish and then unhook my hard drive from the computer, gathering my belongings, pulling something from my bag, a thank you present for him, if you like.

“Here, these are not only to replace the ones I ruined, but also to thank you again for saving my life,” I tell him quietly, while I pass him a packaged bundle of Egyptian cotton sheets that I couldn’t really afford, but decided to buy earlier today anyway. He takes them from me, looks them over, sniffs and then picks up the trash bin and dunks them straight in it.

“I don’t like cheap rubbish,” he spits spitefully.

“They weren’t cheap at three hundred dollars a set,” I protest, my insides prickled at his actions.

“The ones you ruined cost three thousand, so yes, they are,” he replies, in a matter of fact tone.

“Fine. Since you won’t be needing them, I might as well take them back.” I snatch them back from trash can he’s holding and storm out, absolutely furious at myself that I even dared to think anything could be different. 

How fucking naive am I? He’s a cold, nasty, manipulative vampire and whatever he was last night, he isn’t about to return to that any time soon. I might as well just forget about him being anything different. The Eric whose arms I slept in is long gone and I hate myself for even thinking it, even for a second, but I miss him. 

“Pull yourself together, you idiot.” I speak to myself after getting into my car, blinking a few angry tears down my cheeks, angry that his rejection hurts so fucking much. As it happens, I don’t have to deal with Eric again for a while, since on Monday at 6pm, I receive a text message from Pam, which reads the following-

‘Tyra, don’t come back to work, do not come anywhere near Fangtasia at all until either Eric or I contact you. Do not contact us at all until you’ve heard from one of us first.’ 

I don’t know what that means exactly, but it sounds very important and secretive, since she sent me the text all in Swedish. I just hope Pam is okay, Eric I really couldn’t give a shit about, though. At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you will notice, this is where I begin to encorporate parts of Season Two of the show in with my works, which I'm obviously not taking writing credit for! A huge thank you to all those who have reviewed and left kudos. I look forward to your thoughts as ever.

**Eric’s POV.**

Up until six weeks ago, the only real concern I had to occupy my thoughts, actions and plans was getting to the bottom of the whole Tyra Boden mystery. Since then, however, there’s been more pressing matters I’ve needed to attend to.

It all revolves around a hell of a lot of vampire politics, some that concerns me and some that doesn’t. One particular occurrence very much concerns me though, or rather the pursuit of exacting the quest for vengeance I’ve carried for over a thousand years. Firstly, let me fill you in on the story so far.

As you will know, through Lafayette I have been selling V for the queen of Louisiana, Sophie Anne. Two weeks ago I received a visit from her and the magister, informing me that they suspect a vampire within her kingdom to be selling V to the human population. Naturally, three days after that my bar was raided, the V was found and Pam was taken prisoner.

When I arrived, she thought on her feet very quickly and blamed the V dealing on Bill Compton, with the magister then giving me a deadline of two days to bring Compton to him. So then, I travelled to Jackson, Mississippi to strike a deal with the king of the aforementioned state, said deal being that for help in taking over Sophie Anne’s kingdom, Pam would be returned to me.

This was done, as well as the (very unluckily for Sophie Anne) forced marriage via torture of the magister between her and the king, meaning he took control of Louisiana as well as Mississippi, before the magister was slain by Russell Edgington, as the devious, sanctimonious prick should have been. I’d have killed him myself purely for what he did to Pam.

This brings us nicely up to date, Pam has been released and between her and the only fully trustworthy human I know (Deborah) they are keeping Fangtasia running while I’m still here in Jackson, kissing the king’s ass enough to worm my way in with him and keep searching for what I’m really here to look for. Evidence. Evidence to pin the murder of my entire family right on his royal highness and the werewolves he used to carry out his dirty work.

Godric and I spent many, many years tracking down a group of them who were fuelled by vampire blood, trying to discover who their master was and of course bring him down for crimes so heinous against our species. When another band of werewolves all gorged on V arose locally, leading to my discovery that they were under the control of Edgington, well why don’t you put two and two together and tell me what you come up with?

Yes, I am more than just a touch convinced it was the king who wiped out my entire family…and all I need now is the solid proof I know I will find within his mansion.

“Please, you must see the rest of Russell’s collection,” Talbot, the king’s husband tells me as I view a scroll of 16th century Japanese vampire erotica, mid-way through a tour of the mansion and all the collectables Edgington has amassed over the last three thousand years. Opening the display/storage case fully, I wander over closer, where inside I see it. I see it again after more than a thousand years…

“And this?” I inquire, picking up my father’s crown from its stand.

“Some random tribal crown, he must have hundreds of them. This one’s Scythian, I think,” Talbot drawls in reply.

“Viking.” I correct him, before my mind goes back to the very last time I saw it.

I remember bringing my younger sister in to my mother after I’d heard her cries for attention, sitting down to eat dinner with them. Before I could even take the first bite of my meal, my father and mother both scolded me for spending so much time with our servant who cared for the goats, light hearted at first, until of course, Ulfrik became stern with his words.

He went into a full speech, telling me I needed to grow up, that I couldn’t spend my life between a woman’s legs, that I had to learn responsibility, which did fall upon somewhat deaf nineteen year old ears. He wanted me to learn to be a king, to precede him well, except I always told him ‘later, another day, not now’ with much petulance towards him.

Teenagers haven’t changed much through the centuries, have they? Except nowadays it’s more ‘I’ll tidy my room later’ rather than 'I’ll learn how to be a king later.’ After a heated confrontation, I left in search of pleasures fonder with the servant girl once more, until the sounds of mayhem came filtering through to the barn where we were locked in a tryst.

I charged back into the homestead to witness werewolves ripping my family apart, my brother Felix lying dead, the baby slain in her crib, my beautiful mother torn apart on the floor and my father still fighting.

“Eric! Behind you!” He called out to me, just in time for me to draw my sword and slay an oncoming wolf, but not giving me enough time to save him from the one who dived upon him and tore his throat out before picking up his crown in his mouth.

“Bring me the crown,” a voice spoke from outside as I rushed to the side of my dying father, trying to save him in vain. Looking up, I saw him. The dark shadowy figure swathed in a black cloak, who took the crown from the wolf.

“Don’t be a hero, Viking.” he told me, as I made a start towards him, sword drawl and held high, before he turned and vanished into the night, leaving me to return to my dying father.

“Father, look at me,” I told him, holding his head in my hands.

“You are king,” he gasped through his blood curdled, final agonising breaths.

'No! I won’t allow it!” I exclaimed, desperate for him not to die, shouting for help that never came.

“You know what to do,” he croaked. “Vengeance.”

“Vengeance.” I repeated as I nodded, his blood running out all over my hands, his head slumping back as death claimed him.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell Talbot, coming around from my flashback, feeling pure venom with a thousand years of potency fuelling its way through my body, making it hard for me to remain composed, yet I manage it. I must manage it, I must.

“Quite,” he replies, eyeing me with curiosity. Before he has the time to become furtherly curious over my demeanour, I place the crown back and turn to him.

“I neglected to tell you and Russell that I will be away tonight, I have a little business to attend to, so I’m afraid our pleasant evening must come to an end a little prematurely. I shall return though, before sunrise,” I inform him, watching him look disappointed.

“Ahhh, Eric. Our evening has been so lovely up until this point. I cannot say I am not disappointed by this, but business is, after all, business,” he replies lightly, while I nod and exit the room, the mansion and the state at speed, flying back to Louisiana and coming to a stop somewhere on the outskirts of Bon Temps, in the middle of a huge forest, where I cannot move any further, my mind taken over completely by more flashbacks from the time I was human.

“Ulfrik! Ulfrik! Come quickly, the baby is taking his first steps!” Yes, my infant memories stretch back as far as this, to being a year old and walking with small, unbalanced steps to my mother’s outstretched arms, her smile so bright and wide it was like the sunshine itself, laughing with mirth as she beheld me, her first born, walking to her. I then remember my father running in, crouching at her side with his arms around her, smiling too.

“That’s it! That’s it, little Viking! Another step, we’ll have him up on a horse before he’s even reached his third year, Astrid,” he said encouragingly, the joy in his voice at watching me walk to them still ringing in my ears now. When I reached them, I was bundled up into warm, loving arms and showered with the love and praise they always bestowed on me and my siblings.

“Less tension in the bow, or you’ll fire the arrow clean over the target,” my father told me, as he stood by the side of my seven year old self, teaching me my first lesson in archery. I released the arrow and watched it sail through the air, hitting the target of a large piece of tree trunk, upon which my father had carved a huge X for me to hit the centre of. The first five attempts had either sailed right past this target, but this one hit it dead on in the centre.

“You will make a fine archer one day, my son. Next, we move onto the sword and hatchet. It is time, I feel,” he told me, holding my face in his hands and tenderly kissing my forehead while I beamed with happiness at his pride. I would have done anything to have made him proud, except maybe the one thing I really needed to in the end, something my teenage petulance prevented me from understanding the importance of.

Before I knew it, tomorrow was too late and I could never say 'tomorrow, I will learn tomorrow’ to him again, for he was gone, my beautiful mother, too.

“Little man, you should be the one to look after me,” I remember her telling me as she lay under my bed covers with me, stroking my head and soothing me when I was frightened during a storm. I always thought the lightning was going to come down and hit me, the great sparks from Thor striking his mighty hammer.

“I will, when I’m big enough. I promise, mother,” I replied, drying my tear stained eyes and feeling her do the same, her soft fingers stroking my cheeks so lovingly as she held me close, my hands entwining themselves in her beautiful, soft blonde curls, listening as she sang to me.

“The clouds are dark and the sky is so stormy and grey, but if you sleep tight now…”

“…tomorrow, the morning will steal it all away.” I finish, back in the here and now, sitting down on a fallen tree trunk, blood tears trickling down my cheeks as I can still hear her sweet voice, singing the rest of the lullaby to me that she made up herself, to sing to me when the thunder and lightning raged all around, to ease my worried infant mind to sleep.

Now I have nothing, nothing to comfort the thousand years of pain, anger and torment I’ve carried with me, except maybe one thing, other than the bloody vengeance I will wreak upon Russell Edgington. Right now, only one other thing will ease what I’ve tried hard to forget.

**Tyra’s POV.**

“You have absolutely no idea how relieved I am to see your name flashing up on my cell!” I practically bark with relief as I answer a call from Pam. It’s the first correspondence I’ve had with her for the last three weeks, since she sent me the text telling me to stay away from Fangtasia. “What on earth has been going on?” I then ask, before she gets chance to even reply to my first statement.

“I appreciate you’ve been worried for me, but I’m absolutely fine, so you don’t need to fret any longer. I just called you to say we’ve been back in business for a week now, so there’s a weeks’ worth of books for you to come in and get started with.

“As for what’s been going on, I don’t want to sound rude but I just cannot tell you. It’s Eric’s business and he’s tied up with a hell of a lot of problems right now. If it’s anyone’s job to tell you, it’s his. So, how are you?” she replies in her usual, cool tone, while I move through to my lounge and flop down on my back on the couch, removing a magazine that sticks in my spine and throwing it on the floor before making myself comfortable leaning back against a cushion.

“That’s fine, you know I never pry into vampire business anyway, it isn’t my concern. Just as long as you’re okay. As for what I’ve been up to, just the usual mundane crap, working, working, working and trying to fit in some sort of a social life between it all.” I reply, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger as we continue to chat, more catching up on what I’ve been up to rather than her, since she’s told me that is confidential information.

I’m just glad to hear from her again and with that, get my routine back on track, even though I cannot deny I will miss the extra time that I had. Knowing a friend is safe and well is worth more than mere spare time on my hands, though.

We end the call with me telling her I’ll see her in two days before I continue my chilled out evening, reading a bit more of my new book on Elizabeth Bathory, before the call of my office becomes too much to bear and I head to it to battle with sums for a few more hours. I do intend to get an early night tonight, somewhere before 2am would be a nice time to slip under my covers.

I attack my work with gusto, so much so that just before midnight passes, I’ve managed to finish the books for Merlotte’s, Sinclair’s Auto’s and Hartford and Bennett, a legal firm in the centre of Shreveport. It’s just as I’m having the idea of powering down for the night that I hear a tap on the glass of my screen door.

At first I wonder if it’s a stoned Lafayette wandering over for a visit, but then remember he’s likely only just finishing up cleaning down the kitchen after service at Merlotte’s. I venture out of my little office and head down the hall into the lounge, turning to see Eric standing outside. At first I frown heavily at him, starting for the door with my shoulders rounded, ready for round two of 'let’s be a complete asshole to Tyra’, when I notice his face properly.

He doesn’t ever convey much in expression, but right now he doesn’t look himself at all. Even still, I remain cautious and guarded as I open the door. Looking up at him properly, I see the closest thing to a distressed vampire I’ve ever seen. It’s right there in his eyes, pain and anger, neither directed at me either.

“I need you to do something for me,” he asks urgently, his eyes red rimmed with blood tears more shocking that his tone, which transmits sadness and perhaps even a touch of genuine need.

“What?” I ask him, feeling stirred by his state. I can’t help it. I might be a cool, pragmatic person otherwise, but I’m not made of stone.

“This, just this.” Taking my hands, he holds them against his face, immediately looking soothed while I just stand here and wonder what the hell is going on, trying to fight off the way this is making me feel. No blood exchange this time has prompted this, this is all just us. The last time he saw me, he was so rude, but now it’s flipped back to this again. My head is a mess.

“Eric, what’s…” is all I manage before he cuts me up.

“Mmmm, so much better. Everything that is broken, you heal.” He whispers, so quietly I can barely hear him, his own hands coming up to stroke the back of mine, while he just stands there and looks half in pain, half euphoria.

It’s shaking me to my core, to see him like this, like there are actual emotions running through him. That feeling strengthens dramatically as he leans close to me, forehead resting against mine, staring into my eyes before he closes them and touches his cheek to mine. His arms wind around me, holding me to him as without even thinking, I stroke his hair and his neck.

He then looks back at me, our shared stare so intense I actually feel like I’m about to faint, I feel so dizzy and lightheaded. Against all odds, this feels right, _he_ feels right, like he should be here. I open my mouth to speak, yet no words come forth. Instead, I feel a cool set of lips press my cupids bow, Eric barely kissing me at all, yet making me feel like I’ve just been dipped in adrenaline. I’m glimmering all over, my heart thundering in my chest, consumed by him completely.

“You feel like home.” He whispers, before vanishing just as quickly as he appeared, leaving me standing here gasping for breath, shaking and wondering what the hell is going on. Why is he acting like this? Why? Confusion floods me as I drop to the floor and reach out to slam the screen shut, the frame shaking as I burst into tears, hating myself for letting silly emotions rule and get the better of me like this. Fuck, I sound just like Eric.

I guess in a way I have to be a little like him right now, use this moment to blank it out, how he made me feel. I need to cut myself off from it, as a vampire does with his own emotions, except Eric did this hundreds of years ago. I don’t imagine he can feel much now, which makes me convinced he’s just enjoying messing with me, trying to toy with me. However, he looked so…vulnerable and that moment with him was just so…it was real. It was…Tyra, stop. Go get a wash, brush your teeth, refill your glass of water and go to bed.

I finally heave myself up off the floor, locking the door, fetching a glass of water and switching off the lights. I wash and brush my teeth, throwing my clothes in the laundry basket and sliding off my bracelets once within my bedroom, placing my thin, gold bangles down and then undoing the catch on the little pewter one I’m wearing.

I hold it in my hand and am instantly reminded of the past. I made this when I was six and I’ve treasured it ever since. It’s a simple chain with a little heart dangling off it, something I remember making in the back yard about nine months after my mom had died.

It’s always been a comfort to me, but for reasons I never dare speak of to anyone any longer. It was on that warm, autumn night that I got my first visit from a friend who stayed in contact with me until I was sixteen, then sadly vanished. The young man who my parents and many psychiatrists and therapists all told me was my imaginary friend, since my mother would hear me in the garden and look out to see me talking to no one. He’d always vanish into thin air before anyone could see him.

Sometimes, I wonder if he was real or not, with how he used to just disappear like that, but he had to be. I’ll never forget the first time I met him.

Having being sat still for a good hour making the shiny little bracelet that newly hung off my little wrist, I decided to take a bucket from my parents shed and head off in search of edibles from the hedgerow that bordered our garden.

Even though the evening had fallen, my mom had been out about half an hour previously to bring me a juice and light up the many lanterns she had hanging from the trees, so she could still see me through the darkness down at the bottom of the garden. I’d only been there a few minutes when I heard someone behind me.

“You do know those berries are poisonous, don’t you?” A soft male voice spoke to me. I stopped my hand in its pursuit of picking the orange berry from its vine, turning around to see a young man standing over on the other side of the brook, smiling at me.

“As a rule of thumb, if it’s orange it’s best to leave it alone. Those dark purple ones are safe, though. I quite recommend them.” He then added, smiling at me. He had the most amazing green eyes I’d ever seen, bright and sparkly, his tattoos visible under the simple V neck sweater he wore, dark shapes etched into pale skin. 

“They’re the ones my mom puts in pies. I really like them, too,”’ I said, watching him smile a touch wider and then step out onto the stones that lead from one side to the other, arriving at my side and beginning to pull berries off the bush.

“Allow me to assist, Tyra,” he offered, while my eyes widened.

“How do you know my name?” I asked curiously. My parents had told me all about the dangers of talking to strangers, but for some reason I didn’t feel unsafe with him. Far from it, in fact.

“I know a lot of things about you. I know for one thing that you’re a very special little girl, despite the fact that sometimes, I know you might not feel like you are,” he replied, dropping berries into the bucket I had hanging from my arm.

“Because my real mom and dad died, you mean?’ I stated, wondering if that was what he meant. I then wondered how he would know that and felt silly, but he did. He did know.

“Yes, exactly that. I think you’re very, very brave too,” he told me as I smiled at him sadly, looking at the ground for a moment. “Bravery is in your nature, because of who you are. You really have no idea how important you are either. I feel privileged to be standing here with you, I honestly do,” he then said, while I gave him a puzzled look.

“Why am I so special?” I questioned, confused at why this stranger was praising me so much.

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you the reason, but it is something you will learn. One day.” He stated, while I nodded, accepting his words. I remember walking further along the side of the brook with him, my little hand slotted into his so perfectly as he showed me different types of berries and herbs that were edible, named every flower we passed and pointed out fish and little fresh water crabs in beautiful, clear water to me, which I could just about make out from the light the lanterns provided.

After walking me back to my garden, he suddenly vanished, which confused the hell out of me, as you might imagine. I saw him again soon after, sitting in a tree with him for hours after sunset, asking him question after question. Each and every one, he had an answer for, never tiring of my infant curiosity. He was so learned, like he’d been around forever, yet he looked so young. Always, whenever he visited me, he had the same message, as well.

“You have no idea how special you are, how important you will be.” With each month and year that passed, even though his visits would be at most few and far between, I grew very close to him. I absolutely adored him, running down the garden into his arms, feeling him hug me tightly and greet me with the same words each time. ‘Hello, special girl.’ He became a constant to me, from a time when life was very bewildering. He was wonderful, he was kind, he was…

“Godric.” I whisper into the night, smiling with deep affection as I remember my strange, yet beautiful 'imaginary’ friend. No amount of medication - that I cheated taking anyway by hiding the pills under my tongue - or hours sat in a therapists chair could really convince me otherwise, until I reached twelve and had had enough of it, so agreed he was all a figment of my overactive imagination and left it at that. Except he wasn’t. I still saw him for a further four years after that. I just didn’t tell anybody.

Sometimes, I do wonder if he truly was real, now that I’m older and see that I might have simply imagined him as a child, for me to have someone who would never leave me, because without being real, he wouldn’t be capable of such. Loss can do that to a person, it’s also what my therapist told my parents I was likely doing, creating a constant because I was scared of losing anyone else.

Whether he was or wasn’t, I sure could use a hug from him right now.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued readership. The posts on this story will slow down a little from now on as I need to edit it (a considerable task, given the overall length of the story) so please do bear with me x

**Eric’s POV.**

The light from the open fire bathes my whole apartment in a deep, orange glow, illuminating her nakedness as she lies next to me. Her beautiful eyes could light up the whole room anyway, I feel. Just looking down at her, watching her as she studies my face and strokes my hair, I feel the kind of contentment I haven’t experienced in many years.

“Your mind is restless. I can see it in your eyes,” she states, a small frown of concern shadowing her otherwise perfectly beautiful, flawless face.

“There’s nothing wrong, nothing on my mind other than you,” I tell her, watching her shake her head.

“Eric, you should know by now that line works on other people, but never me, love,” she replies, leaning in to kiss me.

“I never could lie to you, could I?” I ask, watching her shake her head as she strokes the side of my face. At the very moment I decide it probably is the best option to alleviate my mind and reveal my troubles, the door flies open and in run three huge, black wolves. 

Before I can jump up fast enough to protect her, to put myself in harm’s way, they tear her from my arms and rip her to pieces, until the only thing that’s left of Tyra is her blood and torn off limbs all over the floor, while all I can do is sit and watch in utter horror.

“Being a vampire means a lot of human pleasantries are lost forever. Why can’t dreams be included in those pleasantries, too?” I mutter to myself after waking with a start, looking at the time and seeing it’s only 11am. Four hours after I shut my eyes and four hours after I began dreaming about Tyra, like I have for the last four days since I saw her. 

Is it not enough that I spend a lot of my waking hours with the woman on my mind, now I have to suffer thinking about her in my sleep as well? This constant quest to find out what she is, why her blood and the energy she transmits affect me as much as they do is becoming a bother to me, since I’m still no closer to discovering what she is.

Even though my blood flows through her veins now and hers in mine, I still cannot decipher what she is. I find it vexatious, especially since I often find myself thinking about her for reasons that don’t involve what she is, or my desire to pin her to my bed and fuck her until she can’t move for a month. 

I confess, I’ve been starting to wonder if there’s something else about her that attracts me so heavily, pulls me in further than any other woman I’ve ever met. I swiftly pull myself together and realise that at my age, I’m immune from such emotions and feelings. However, I cannot justify or discount how her energy makes me feel, her blood either.

When I visited her after finding out that it was indeed Russell who murdered my family, that very energy I felt when I held her hands to my face made everything melt away completely. The painful memories, the dangerous rage, the longing for vengeance, when she held my face in her hands, it just went away. She made me feel at peace, nourished by her even, healed. I still cannot fully describe it, how her energy acts upon me. 

I cannot comprehend why her blood made me change to something close to human in the way I regarded her either, the guilt I felt for being the cause of her falling down the stairs, or the contentment I felt at looking after her, just having her lying next to me. It doesn’t make a shred of sense, and it doesn’t add up either. 

Also, I see it as a weakness, and that is a word that does not enter my vocabulary. Unless I’m applying it to somebody else, that is. Otherwise, I do not have weaknesses, yet I can feel I have one slowly building up where Tyra is concerned. That energy I feel, I have a weakness for it. Also, when I drank her blood, how I felt, I confess that I liked it. I cannot allow myself to, though. No. 

“I’m fucking sick of this,” I mutter, frowning.

“If you’re so sick of it, then admit defeat. It won’t make you any less of a vampire to realise what is good for you, Eric. Surely that is something I managed to teach you?” I hear, looking over to the couch, where the ghostly form of Godric sits.

“You also taught me it is bad for any vampire to have a weakness, to form a soft spot that can be used in manipulation. You always vehemently instructed me to rein in my emotions!” I fume as I sit up and stare at him angrily, or rather his form. He just laughs softly, annoying me further.

“Admitting you feel something towards Tyra is no act of weakness, my child. You will understand why you do, one day soon. You will know then that what you feel cannot be helped. No vampire ever could resist the charms of her kind. You’d be the first in all of history if you did. I’m telling you right now, you shouldn’t resist her. Pretty soon you’ll discover that you can’t, it will be impossible,” he explains cryptically, causing the flames of my fury to burn more intensely. 

“You still cannot tell me why either, can you?” I spit coldly, my temper only being met by good nature.

“Of course, I can’t! That would make everything just too easy. To be rewarded with what you will one day claim as yours and no one else’s, you will see why you had to work so hard to attain it. You are not far from having everything fall into place for you. You must not give up now. The answers, they are all here now, just waiting to be discovered. As I’ve told you before, have patience Eric, have patience. On this you must trust me.”

These are his final words before his image becomes fainter and fainter, vanishing into thin air. Trust you? I’ve trusted you for over a thousand years and you’ve never infuriated me to this level before, Godric. Never. 

This is the only thing I can cling to, the fact that all this guessing and his cryptic behaviour, must be concealing something big. Whatever Tyra is, she’s been sent for a reason, one of great importance. I am starting to lose patience with wondering what on earth could possibly be worth all this fucking effort, though

“Let me see that!”

“No, it’s nothing!”

“Nothing my cold, dead ass. Hand the cell phone over, Tyra.”

“No! Fuck off, Pam, stop!”

“Oh! This is who you’re hiding from me, then? You dirty cat, could your tongue be any further down his throat?”

That’s the sound I’m greeted with upon waking up hours later and heading upstairs to the bar, Pam and Tyra having one of those playful bickering moments all female friends seem to insist upon sharing with each other, usually when one wants information the other is reluctant to give, as is the case here. 

With the last comment made by my progeny, it doesn’t take a genius to work out what the exact topic of their conversation is, another potential boyfriend I’ll have to glamour away by the sound of things. Moving back to conceal myself behind the partially open door, I eavesdrop in order to garner the information I need.

“Oh hush! He took that picture anyway, not me. I was just trying to delete it when you came a’ spying on me,” I hear Tyra reply, looking through the crack in the door and seeing her trying to snatch her cell back away from Pam, who looks like she’s having too much fun snooping to let that happen right now, moving the cell faster than Tyra can try and swipe it back.

“Who is this mystery - and may I say very attractive, for a man - young gentleman you’ve been sucking face with? Also, why didn’t you tell me about him sooner?” Pam then asks, finally giving her the cell back.

“Because I only met him a week ago. Even still, something clicked with him. He’s really different to the long line of losers I’ve dated recently. So far, he appears to be a very good choice for me, too. He’s into all the same things as I am, doesn’t want to be and won’t be under my feet twenty-four seven since his job keeps him away for most of the week. Also, yes. He is just a little bit gorgeous, isn’t he? “Tyra replies, while I watch Pam nodding.

“He’s a keeper, then, is he? This Mr Black hair and green eyes? Give me name!” Pam then demands.

“Danny,” Tyra begins, pondering for a few moments. “You know me, though. I never rush into making a decision but yeah, so far I have a real good feeling about him,” she finishes with, while I feel something inside me swell with anger. Danny, make the most of her while you can, because you’re on limited time.

“Either that or it’s the fact that for the last year you’ve been celibate, which is still something I find very hard to believe with someone as criminally sexy as you, my friend,” Pam compliments her, giving her a playful prod in the shoulder with her fingernail

That piece of information does nothing but make me want her more. The fact that she’s no slut really piques my interest, despite my otherwise – and fairly obvious - liking of women who are quick to invite me between their legs. Tyra’s resistance to give in to me attracts me more, though.

“Pam, if you’ve quite finished distracting my bookkeeper, I’d like her to be working for what she’s paid to come here to do, not gossip with you about her love life,” I say as I finally decide to enter the room, watching Pam give a ‘well, I guess that’s told me’ look from under her long eyelashes before she saunters out, leaving just me and Tyra alone.

“Could I ask that you actually do some work instead of chattering about unimportant babble with my progeny? Surely that’s not too much to ask of a fucking bookkeeper, is it?” I request, envy rising by the second as I keep seeing an image of her in my head kissing another man, becoming furtherly furious at myself for letting it bother me.

“Duly noted,” is all she replies with her usual insouciance.

“Don’t give me that tone,” I warn her firmly, leaning across the desk and into her personal space, so much so that she has no choice but to look up at me.

“Why? Don’t blame me for your own envy, Eric,” she correctly deduces, my fury burning. How fucking dare she, how dare she have the measure of me like this.

“I am not envious of anyone! All I want is for you to do the job that I pay you for, Tyra! I roar, beyond enraged that she stirs me like this and completely furious at myself for letting her push my buttons. 

“Shouting at me like that goes a long dissuade your assertion.” she replies with heavy sarcasm. There it is again, the urge to either kiss her or kill her, polluting my mind so much I don’t answer, leaving quickly as my burning temper shows no signs of subsidence.

**Tyra’s POV.**

Envious with a capitol E, that’s exactly what he is. Well, that isn’t my problem. I’m sick to death of him blowing me hot and cold, one minute interested, the next far from it, playing his stupid little games with me because I won’t do the one thing he wants and open my legs to him. Fuck him if he’s going to be like that. I really want no part in it all. 

After I happened to meet Danny just eight days ago, while I was having a relaxing afternoon working away on my laptop at Starbucks, I decided to give up on anything that might or might not be with Eric and just move the hell on. I decided it was time to find someone who wants me because he wants me and not to fuck with my head as much as he can. 

I’m seeing him again tomorrow night for our third date. It’s moving along fast, but I can hardly wait. Until then, I do have the company of a certain male to enjoy, since we never did get round to rescheduling that little dinner date of ours.

“Sit your ass down and tuck in to some serious chow, honey child,” Lafayette tells me, pulling out my chair for me and tucking it underneath me as I sit down to perhaps the largest burrito I’ve ever seen. There are also refried beans, dirty rice, an array of freshly made dips, homemade tortilla chips and tamales. He really went all out. 

“Well, if I manage to finish all this then I think I deserve some kind of prize,” I reply, thanking him as he pours me a glass of wine, mixing his with cherry Coke in the same bizarre way he always does. 'If it’s good enough for Jimi Hendrix’ he often says in way of explanation, referencing the late guitarist’s liking of red wine and Coke together.

“Cheers. So then, ice princess, how are things with Danny boy? You got that third date lined up yet?” he asks me, as I cut into the mammoth burrito, the smell of freshly seared spicy chicken hitting my nose as the steam rises from the middle.

“Tomorrow, he’s taking me to see a band. You know I’ve spoken to him on the phone every day since I met him. I never run out of things to say to the dude, it’s amazing. We just mesh and it’s a little scary to be fair, how instantly we clicked,” I inform him, watching him nod as he blows on a forkful of rice.

“Well that definitely sounds like you found yourself self a keeper, I’ll drink to that,” he announces, swallowing his mouthful of food and lifting his glass.

“You’re the second person to say that to me this evening,” I comment, watching him stare at me for a minute, looking a little unnerved.

“I assume that since you’ve been at Fangtasia, you mean you told that Pam woman and not Eric, right? Because I can imagine that’d go down as well as if you bought the dude a silver watch,” he snorts, while I laugh quietly.

“Yes, Pam. I don’t talk to him about stuff like that. He did come in part way through our conversation though, so heard what we were talking about. He didn’t like it one bit, either. He was envious as hell, truth be known,” I confide, still feeling a touch proud I managed to inadvertently ruffle his feathers as much as I did. Damn, he was pissed.

“You look way more pleased by that than you do about your third date with Danny boy,” he observes, while I stop eating momentarily to gape at him slightly.

“What do you mean by that, exactly? Yes, I’m aware of the dialogue used, but I kind of picked up on some underlying connotations there,” I ask, watching him look uncomfortable for a moment, before erupting.

“Damn it hooker, you playin’ Eric Northman just as much as his dead, white boy ass be playin’ you, shit!” he exclaims, dropping his fork somewhat dramatically and grabbing his drink. “I feared this would happen, you’re into him and you’s just using that poor fucker to either make Mr dead man envious, or you’re tryin’ to hide from the fact you like him more than you’re prepared to admit, either of the two. Or maybe both,” he shouts, adding “truth!” just before I’m about to speak.

“Okay, so maybe I’ve thrown myself into this whole Danny thing a bit quickly, but it’s so I can just move on from Eric and not get all messed up in him. He isn’t what I want!” I justify, to the sound of Lafayette snorting.

“Yeah? All I ever hear you bitching on about is Eric! Eric, Eric, fucking Eric! You playin’ him, and you loving every last second of it. You know you’re playin’ with more than just fire honey child, you playin’ with the devil himself. I know I don’t gotta tell you how fucking dangerous the son of a bitch is, but either way you gotta do something here. If you ask me it’s either of two things,” he tells me, eventually calming down more as his speech goes along. I know he’s only worried for me, that’s why I’m not losing my shit back at him. I’d be doing the same if it was him and someone who I didn’t approve of.

“Alright, big poppa. What are those things?” I inquire, taking a gulp of my wine.

“Stop being a vampire dick tease permanently and quit the job, or fuck him and get it the hell out of your damn system. I advise the former, though,” he reveals neatly and simply. I can’t help but to suddenly laugh.

“Sweet cheeks, I’m being serious over here! You gotta decide what it is you want, and stop second guessing everything you think Eric wants,” he then barks at me, but with no anger in his voice, just his usual boom.

“You’re right. As usual, Lafayette, you’re absolutely right,” I concur, figuring it’s useless to try and find any other way out of this. Still, something has to be said for the fact that leaving my post at Fangtasia is not the first option that crosses my mind, no matter how much my friend sitting opposite might disagree with that notion. 

Strangely enough, the person who that notion would be carried out with sends me a text just a few minutes after I’ve finished eating my huge dinner, or rather as much of it as I could handle.

‘Can you come back to the bar? There’s something I forgot to give you, and it’s very important that you receive it tonight.’

‘Why can’t it wait until tomorrow?’ I text him back, as Lafayette re-joins me at the table after taking our plates into the kitchen.

‘It just can’t. Come back as soon as you can, please.’ I receive a few minutes later.

“Danny?” He asks me hopefully.

“Eric,” I sigh.

“Thought so,” he laments. “What does he have to say for himself?”

“He wants me to go back to the bar, tells me there’s something he forgot to give me and it’s important that I get it tonight,” I tell him, while he nods and then surprises me greatly with his words.

“Go,” he says simply at first. “Go now and get whatever he has for you. But you’ve got the half hour it’ll take for you to drive to Shreveport to decide on what you tell him when you get there. If you hand in your notice, or if you hand him the booty. That’s a fair enough deal, right? You know you can’t sweat on it forever, Tyra,” he follows with, his words very wise. Once again, he’s right.

“I will, I’ll do just that. Thank you, I’ll come back and let you know what I decided,” I reply as we get up, Lafayette folding me up in a big hug.

“If I don’t answer the door, it’s because Jesus and I are gettin’ busy,” he confides with a wink, referring to his new boyfriend of sorts.

“Then I’ll text and make sure the coast is clear first.” I chuckle. After he’s seen me out, I walk straight back down to my house, put on a jacket since it’s started to rain and then head out to the car. 

As I drive, I begin thinking, thinking hard as I take the long way over to Shreveport, buying myself little extra time while I mull over my choices and nervously crunch my way through a whole box of orange tic tacs to pacify my juddering teeth. 

Suddenly, the thought of never seeing Eric again leaves me short of breath, just as the idea of having sex with him does. In this moment, I have no idea what to decide upon, which conflicts strongly with the knowledge of what Lafayette said being right, and the only decision I must make. I have to end my own torment one way or another. 

Even as I’m walking across the main floor of Fangtasia, after Pam tells me Eric is waiting for me in his office when we kiss cheeks in greeting (she surprises me all the time with such friendly gestures) I’m still no wiser as to what to decide upon. All I know for sure is that I’m burning with nerves.

“So? What’s this important thing you forgot to give me, this thing that can’t possibly wait until tomorrow?” I ask, somewhat wearily as I enter the office. This better be fucking good, or I’m gone. There, decision made. 

He looks up at me, holding my gaze from behind the desk, holding it so fast, in fact, that I can feel my resolve weakening. His stare so powerful that I’m stuck to the spot, feeling like a deer being stalked by a wolf. Silently, he holds me there as he gets up and walks slowly towards me. 

The way he’s looking at me, he’s never looked at me like this before, coming to a stop in front of me and reaching out over my shoulder to push the door shut, while I feel my heart starting to thunder in my chest. I’m suddenly incandescent, but not with anything else other than the purest way he makes me feel, the way I’ve trying to ignore for weeks. 

“This.” He leans down and without even a flicker of hesitation, kisses me with the kind of force that knocks the wind clean out of me. As I kiss him back with every bit of urgency returned, everything else just melts away as I fall into the most passionate, unbreakably strong, intense kiss I’ve ever received, ever participated in. 

At the very moment I feel him try to lift me I jump, up into his arms with my legs locked around his waist, his arms around me so tightly he’s crushing me to him, and not once does our kiss break…not now…and not for the entire time that follows it either. We’re locked in this kiss for what seems like forever, reality far, far away. 

“Go,” he finally says when our lips finally part, dropping me down to my feet. Thank god I have the landing skills of a cat, or I’d be on my ass about now.

“What?” I ask, incredulously.

“Go!” he demands, his face contorting as he screws his eyes shut, before literally vanishing and leaving me to wonder one thing. Have I lost my mind? Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I giving in to this man’s demands time and time again just to be rejected at every turn in this complicated saga that is me and him?

I don’t know, but I do know one thing, on the drive home I tune into total rock radio and the song 'Where is my mind?’ by Pixies comes on, coincidentally enough. It feels like Black Francis is posing the question directly to me, too. It feels karmic in a strange way that I hear this song now, perhaps the universe is letting me know I’m right. Where is my mind? 

Honestly, where is it? I must be some kind of masochist to keep torturing myself like this. Then again, I’m not the only one doing the torturing, the game playing. Oh no. For when I arrive home, he’s standing on my porch waiting for me. I cannot believe it! The audacity of him!

Getting out of my car I look right through him as I head up to my house, unlocking my front door and hating myself for feeling like every tiny hair on my body is standing on end as I feel him right behind me, turning to look at him once I’m inside, feeling tingles I don’t want to feel run through me as my heart somersaults. 

“You kiss me and you tell me to go. Now you’re here! I mean, what the fuck? What do you want from me?” I cry shrilly, totally exasperated, my cool lost long ago.

“I don’t know, but I know one thing. I can never be satisfied with just kissing you ever again.” He states vehemently, advancing on me and then taking my head in his hands, his mouth connecting with mine again in a kiss so deep, it doesn’t break. 

I feel every single barrier I’ve put up against him break in half, letting him in totally as he floods my senses entirely. We make it roughly another two steps back into the house before the floor is where we fall, our kiss only breaking to pull each other out of our clothes, until all that covers our skin is each other.


	13. Chapter 13

It might sound like the biggest cliché in the world, but I don’t think I’ve felt anything as amazing as the feeling of him, all over me. His cold skin adds contrast against my warmth, goosebumps prickling my skin all over, every last square inch feeling extra sensitive wherever his hands or mouth roam to. 

His fingertips travel all over me in torrid exploration, caressing my every curve, dip and rise of my body, his mouth bestows kisses to my neck, lingering there for only a few moments before he moves, giving my nipples the attention they crave, pink and pebbled against his tongue. As he sucks them in turn, his fangs prickling my breast, a sensation I’m not entirely adverse to, his hands roaming beneath me to grasp my butt. 

He pulls me against him, his hardness jutting against my hip as he gropes at me urgently, receding his fangs and kissing me with unbridled force. I shudder when he shifts slightly and trails his hand down my inner thigh, a thick finger invading my wetness with a deep, rumbling growl, a noise that is one hundred percent inhuman, but my lord, sexy as hell. 

I feel a second finger enter me as his mouth moves to caress my neck with hungrily scattered kisses, my head thudding back against the floor as his fingers begin to rub my g spot firmly, my hands navigating their way across his rippled back, fingers caressing muscles I didn’t even know existed.

Reaching between my legs, I make my palm slippery with my own wetness before grasping his cock, Eric groaning as he twitches in my hand when I begin to stimulate his long, thick shaft. My god, he’s hung like a beast. 

“How the fuck is all of that going to fit in me?” I can’t help but wail a little comically, Eric snorting slightly with laughter. 

“You shall accommodate me just fine, I feel.” He assures me, my wetness bathing his fingers as my walls contact around them appreciatively, his stroking making me soar. He kisses me with urgent want, his tongue swirling with mine, a deep groan with that same underlying hint of a growl escaping his mouth. 

I feel a little bereft of such skill when his fingers retreat from me, his hands moving to lock around my wrists, placing my arms either side of my head. His hands then move to my sides, stroking my waist as his legs push mine apart wider and with one easy, fluid movement, he’s inside me.

“You feel, ahhhhhh.” He groans deeply, his big, hard cock retreating only so far before my muscles tighten around him, not willing to let him out, pushing back into my tight, aching cunt much deeper than before, making me cry out in the painful ecstasy of being totally filled by something of such enormity. 

His mouth pressing to mine again mutes that noise, the air filling with the sound of the deep, carnivorous groan emanating from deep in his chest as he begins to move faster within me. He might have trailed off into the realms of pleasure before he could tell me how I feel, but him, how he feels? My god…I can barely articulate how carnally perfect he is. 

For one thing, I didn’t expect him to be so passionate, yet he barely ceased to kiss and stroke me, holding firm eye contact with me for the most part as well. Another thing that amazes me is that he’s breathing, his chest heaving up and down, cold breaths blasting against my breast as once again he gives my hardened nipples the attention of his mouth.

“Fuck!” I cry, as he begins to thrust into me with unrelenting vigour, hitching one of my legs up under his arm and pushing it forward, my body trembling incandescently. This truly is amazing sex. 

Now I understand totally what the fascination is, why mere mortals like myself are prepared to perhaps die for it, a moment of ecstasy with the most dangerous predator on earth. Except this is no moment, what we share here on the floor. Unlike mere mortals, vampires have near unending stamina.

I moan in total rapture, feeling him pushing my leg forward further, making his cock sink deeper into me as he takes his weight onto his forearms, leaving his hands free to squeeze my breasts as he kisses me. I’m assailed mightily as he starts to pound into me like a jackhammer, not slowing, not stopping, until I’m tighter and wetter with every thrust.

The sweeping flush of pleasure gathers momentum speedily as I succumb to panting, groaning, sweating and wailing at the top of my voice as it encompasses me, my waves breaking against his shore, my release throbbing through my groin and making me feel like my swollen clit, stimulated by his body grinding into mine, is exploding. 

I have never been hit so hard before and while Eric does slow down a little, he doesn’t stop, letting me ride out my waves as they ebb away again before quickly enough, he begins fucking me with brutal intensity once more. My body pounds against the hardwood, the very bones his prowess has me burning to bruising under the weight of him. Both are worthy exchanges for how he feels inside of me, though. 

“You look so beautiful when you cum.” He whispers in my ear, tongue tickling the outer shell and nipping at the lobe before he resumes scattering hungry kisses across my neck. His fangs graze my skin, his tongue flickering over my pulse, his temptation to bite me palpable. He resists the urge, though, sliding from within my gaping wetness to turn me over and re-enter me, thrusting slowly, laying kisses up and down my spine. 

His hands slide beneath me, pinching at my nipples and twisting them around hard as I groan deeply, loving the pain, my cries of ecstasy spurring him on to pinch harder as he begins to fuck me voraciously again. Why the hell, when I like being fucked as hard and fast and for as long as I do, did sex with a vampire always turn me off so much? 

Who knows, but now is not the time to ponder. Now is the time to feel him begin moving at an unnatural speed, far faster than any human could possibly hope to, sexually annihilating me with every rapid, rapacious thrust. He has me glimmering strongly, my thirst for another orgasm consuming me as I reach between my legs and begin to rub my clit, his body a blur behind mine.

Taking a handful of my hair, he coils it around his hand, fisting it tightly to pull my head back, his hand ricocheting off my ass a few times in a series of brutally delivered spanks, leaning forward to kiss the side of my neck. The way he’s groaning, fuck, he’s so sexy. 

“Bite me,” I demand seductively, another groan forced from my throat as he slows, dragging my walls with his length delectably. He needs no further encouragement, his fangs piercing my neck for the first time, mouth sucking my blood greedily.

It is sexy all in itself, but while the vampire feeding from you is mercilessly fucking you at the same time, its total erotic heaven and in this instance, the catalyst for orgasm number two. He relentlessly keeps on spearing me voraciously, my body tensing and incredibly, cresting for him again. Wow, so that’s what a multiple orgasm feels like.

I swear, he’s like a machine. It’s fast, hard, brutal sex, but with him kissing and stroking me, a notable tenderness that meets the beast head on and makes for a powerful combination. This is what having sex with a Viking feels like, then. I hadn’t thought of that part until just now, which of course, makes it all the more magmatic.

“Stop. I want you on your back,” I demand, pulling away from him before pushing against his chest.

“She’s forceful,” he replies, lying back as I climb astride him, looking entertained at my bravado.

“Guilty as charged.” Leaning forward, I kiss him while my hands explore his chest, trailing them lower as I suck his tongue and guide his cock back inside me. Gasping with satisfaction, my mouth moves to his neck, trailing to his chest as I rock back and forth on him slowly, but with force in each movement of my hips, licking his nipples as I listen to that sexual growling noise he makes.

When I finally sit up sometime long after I first climbed astride him and glance at the clock, I see it’s just past 9:40pm, meaning we’ve been having sex almost non-stop for the last hour and forty minutes. Finally, I’ve found someone with the kind of stamina I enjoy. 

Still, though, it isn’t until a little after 10pm that I finally detect he’s about to cum, his chest heaving up and down in exertion as he moves underneath me quicker. Gripping my waist and pulling me down to him, his teeth clamping onto my nipple as the air fills with the sound of a guttural groan. 

He pounds me so acerbically, I have to lock every single muscle in my legs to prevent myself from not crashing down completely, my pleasure swelling for the fourth time just as his release consumes him, screaming until I’m hoarse. My nails dig into his chest and tear down as I’m deluged by throbbing heat, the primal ecstasy then beginning to ebb away slowly as we become still.

“So, that’s what sex with the most arrogant bastard I’ve ever met is like then. Well, I suppose you do have good reason to be,” I pant looking down at him as I catch my breath, watching him smirk as he raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not done yet.” he informs me. Before I know it, I’ve been picked up and transported to my bedroom at speed, placed on the centre of my bed, Eric above me. He becomes fixated with my breasts again, nibbling my nipples while his hands stroke my thighs, pushing them apart as his mouth works its way lower. 

His tongue flickers across my stomach, over my hip bones, around the bare mound where pubic hair would grow if I let it before finally, right over the tip of my clit, his fingers parting my slit so he can take completely unimpeded licks at it, hard, long and slow. Immediately my head falls back against the pillow and my eyes actually do cross, it feels so good. 

He pushes against my wet opening a few times before I feel him suck my bud and not let go, gently circling the tip with his tongue, making me moan over and over as I’m further shown just what over a thousand years of experience feels like. It feels beyond anything I could ever imagine. He knows exactly how to touch a woman.

My moans quickly reach crescendo, running my fingers through his hair and then down his huge arms, drowning in the intense waves of pleasure his tongue creates as it relentlessly circles my clit. Relentless is the operative word, since I don’t actually see Eric’s face properly again for two hours. Two damn hours, being edged by him mercilessly, my orgasm denied again and again, my entire body quaking in response to such tease. 

Finally, his tongue works me there, my nails digging into his shoulders as I moan my way through my release with vocal aplomb. I then feel the thick invasion of his cock, opening me as his mouth assails my neck, moving to kiss me with hunger, becoming totally lost in the sex we share for hours to follow.

We finally stop at somewhere around the 4:30am mark, lying in his arms in complete exhausted disarray, stroking his chest and looking up at him to see him watching me curiously.

“Why are you staring at me?” I ask, unnerved a little. I always feel uneasy when he smiles, which is what he’s doing now. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Yes. You have a vampire, just here,” he says as he leans in and just touches the corner of my lips with his finger, following with a kiss and making me laugh quietly. It serves to ease that little ripple of apprehension, although I think he always will invoke such within me. 

He’s so unpredictable, especially now. I’m not used to this Eric, this Eric who has just slid his arm under my shoulders and pulled me over to lie on top of him, one hand stroking my back as the other runs through my hair, this Eric who keeps kissing me on top of my head every so often, but other than that is just content to share the silence between us. 

Silence until 4:45am to be precise, when he slides out from underneath me, leaving my bedroom to return moments later with his arms full of clothes, picking out his from mine and pulling them on.

“Come on, get dressed. I don’t have much time before the dawn begins to break,” he tells me, while I give him a puzzled look.

“All I need to do to come and say goodbye to you is wrap myself in this,” I say, gesturing to the bed sheet that half covers my nakedness.

“Ahhh, but see there’s the thing. I have no intention of saying goodbye to you just yet and instead, every intention of taking you home with me and straight back to bed. Because…I don’t quite think…the last eight hours…have been enough time…for me to work out four months of frustration at you…for repeatedly turning me down.” he reveals, the last sentence punctuated by the fact he stops to kiss me from my navel, right up to my mouth, reigniting my want for him all over again. 

“Well, when you put it like that.” I grant him another smouldering kiss before I hop out of bed and pull myself into a clean pair of tight, black jeans and a simple deep red vest, forgoing a bra, much to Eric’s approval when he notices.

I also have the sense to pack a few basic makeup items, a clean thong and a toothbrush into my bag before jamming my feet into my boots, all while being hampered by the big, horny vampire who won’t leave me alone for a moment. Right now, I have his mouth at my neck and his hands roaming all over my torso as they invade the confines of my top.

“You can wait,” I tell him, giggling a little as his cold hands unintentionally tickle my warm flesh, turning and being kissed passionately. Oh my lord, he just made me giggle. That’s a word that seldom enters my vocabulary. I’m not a giggler at all.

“Barely.” He growls, before picking me up and like a shot, flying off through the sky with me holding into him tightly, coming to a stop outside Fangtasia in a lot less time than I thought. We head in through the back and go straight down to his apartment.

He places me on the bed, wasting no time in stripping us both faster than I can see, our nakedness once again blanketing each other as we roll around the huge bed together in the throes of total passion. 

I must confess, I do wonder what makes me so special that I’m down here again with him, since every other woman he indulges in fucking the living daylights out of only makes it to the basement. Whatever the reason, I’m just glad that the hottest sex I’ve ever had isn’t about to cease at any point soon.

**Eric’s POV.**

I like it when I’m right, having my first initial thought of what her beautiful full lips would be good at when I first met her four months ago confirmed, since right now I’m on the receiving end of a very, very good blow job. 

She’s certainly worked her way into a well-deserved spot on the list of the most talented lovers I’ve had in this century at least, although I fully acknowledge that she does have a very unfair advantage over pretty much all of them, and those from the century before, the one before that as well. 

Her energy is unlike anything I have ever felt, this much I have noted before, but when I kissed her, it tripled. It made chords of memory swell that had long been untouched, something I enjoyed so much, it caused me to push her away, not wanting to feel too much.

I soon knew that I didn’t want to feel anything but, though. If kissing her trebled it, feeling my naked skin against hers sent it off the scale, her energy pouring into me, almost like every pore in my skin sucked it up out of her, making for a feeling of intensity unexperienced by me before. 

It continued to grow, too, her energy completely overcoming me, everything about the sex we shared a thousand times more incredible than I remembered it to be with anyone else in the end, because of that beautiful, euphoric energy she transmits. Not that the end has happened yet, because she’ll be very lucky if I let her out of this bed anytime soon. 

I don’t think I’ve met many women who can indulge in more or less eight hours of constant sex without complaining of being tired, apart from Tyra, who seems to have the kind of energy that matches mine. She has no gag reflex either apparently, with how deeply she has my cock nestled in her throat. Yes, she certainly is talented with that pretty mouth of hers.

Just like before when I drank of her, I’m noticing her blood affects me in the exact same way, except this time, it’s even stronger. I feel - if I dare utter it - a lot more connected to her, more interested in her, considerate of her and once again that feeling of not wanting to be parted from her for even a second charging through my veins as my body absorbs her blood, her energy, her.

Whatever she is, having sex with her kind is definitely an experience I cannot see myself tiring of any time soon. She has what it takes to keep my interest held, even though I’m not fully concentrating on the hot, wet mouth sliding up and down my cock, I’m letting my thoughts become swayed as I try for the thousandth time to prod my brain and figure out what she is. 

As far as I know, the only supernatural creature who can transmit such energies to vampires, especially and even more so through sexual contact, were all wiped out over a thousand years ago, so she cannot be one of those. I don’t think I’d ever let her go again if she was one of them; that would really be something. 

After realising that now really isn’t the time to be concentrating on what she is, I revert my mind back to what’s happening on this bed, deciding to enjoy her rather than figure her out. All I want is to push my mouth back between her legs, so slide down the bed until I’m level with her face, kissing her a few times before I continue, positioning myself until I’m level with her hips, pulling her down so I can reconnect my mouth with her sweet, hot cunt. 

She trembles gently while I suck and lick at her, my hands kneading her perfectly rounded ass, slapping it hard a few times since I remember she really, really seems to like that. As do I, the feeling of velvet soft flesh against my mouth a highly pleasurable one while spanking her hard, her moans of appreciation filling the air, but not as highly pleasurable as fucking her.

“What a view.” I compliment her sometime later, watching her body move almost fluidly while she’s on top of me. I know I’m biased, but Swedish women really are the most beautiful in the world. 

She’s my archetypical perfect lover, tall, long limbed, very light blonde hair and beautiful curves as well, all accentuated even more in Tyra’s physique since from her muscles it’s obvious she takes care of herself. She’s an exquisite looking woman, definitely worth waiting four months for.

**Tyra’s POV.**

“You’re doing that weird thing again,” I tell Eric later that morning, 11am later to be precise.

“What weird thing?” he asks, his fingertip coming to a stop momentarily where it circles at the side of my breast.

“That smiling thing you’re doing,” I reply, giving him a playful look and then feeling surprised when he begins to laugh softly.

“How am I supposed to look at you, then? Like this?” He questions, frowning heavily at me suddenly and resting his forehead against mine with a bump, stopping when I smile and push him away gently, putting my arm back around him and kissing his chest. I haven’t met many men that make me feel so tiny, but lying here next to someone the size of Eric would make most feel small, I think. I like it.

“I’m certainly more used to that face,” I comment, watching him shake his head a little.

“I don’t want you to be.” This is all he says before kissing me into silence. 

He’s definitely a man of few words, but for the last thirteen hours we’ve been in each other’s company they’ve been all the right ones, for a change. For now, we’re both all out of words, needing to sleep, which is exactly what we do for the rest of the day and a little of the evening. 

So that’s two firsts in the space of twenty-four hours, sex with a vampire and an entire day off work, because of having sex with the aforementioned vampire.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanking everyone for their continued readership and comments! I look forward to your thoughts, as ever.

“I still maintain, whatever it is about your blood, it does wonderful things to me,” I tell Tyra, sealing the wound in her neck I just fed from and picking her up in my arms to carry her through to the bathroom.

“It takes the hard edge of a vampire who, underneath, isn’t as fearsome as he seems. I think I’m starting to understand it, why you are the way you are,” she states as I gently put her down into the hot water, climbing in behind her.

“Do indulge me of your theory,” I request, lying back and wrapping my arms around her as she rests her head on my shoulder.

“Well, for a start you’re dead. It’s hard to have emotions when you’re no longer alive. Secondly, I can imagine that to survive for as long as you have, you have to harden yourself to some extent in order to do just that; survive. I understand that and I accept you are what you are,” she surmises simply.

She’s so intuitive, unequivocally not like most in the way she thinks. We’ve been awake for about two hours now, just lying in bed talking to each other, getting to know one another better, if you will. This is something I’ve never indulged in before, but with her it’s different.

I want to know her more, because so far I confess, I only like what I have to hear. She sees this world and the people who live in it very differently to most. She isn’t driven or controlled by her emotions like humans are, she’s more vampiric in her nature, going on fact and reasoning before anything else.

I like it very much, just as I equally enjoy how her blood makes me feel, her energy as well. I can feel myself becoming truly wrapped up in it, welcoming it, enveloped by it completely. It’s like there’s an invisible chord that’s starting to connect us, just pulling us closer and closer.

“That’s correct. A vampire does have to push all of that aside just to survive. If we stayed too human, or had too much of a conscious we’d have simply ceased to be a hell of a long time ago. I like that you understand that, that you truly accept we are what we are,” I tell her, stroking her wet hair and kissing her temple. It’s a refreshing change to hear someone accept I am what I am instead of asking a million questions why I am not what they want me to be.

“I don’t understand people who try and justify other’s actions or lives based on their own morals and values. It’s the height of ignorance of you ask me. I think it’s very ignorant when people don’t understand that,” she then says.

“As do I,” I confirm, kissing her once again, which seems to be something I can no longer control, the level of intimacy I’m entering with this lovely woman in my arms. It’s definitely something in her blood drawing me in, for I haven’t acted like this with a woman in centuries. Not since…her.

“Is something wrong?” she asks, turning a little and stroking my cheek with her hand, her eyes studying mine.

“No, no nothing. I just…I was remembering the last time I was like this with a woman,” I confess, shocked at how my mouth opened and words I didn’t even plan on speaking came tumbling out.

“You’re not going to go all cold on me and tell me to fuck off in a few moments, are you?” she then questions.

“No, of course not,” I assure her, affirming my words by holding her tighter.

“Good, because you can be very capricious, you know. So, who was the last woman you were like this with, if you don’t mind me asking?” she then broaches carefully. As if by some kind of magic, I begin to speak once more with the kind of ease I never have with anyone other than Godric over my entire existence as a vampire.

“My wife,” I reveal, Tyra looking shocked for a moment.

“You were married? When you were a human, I take it?” she asks with genuine interest and just a smidgen of incredulity, which to be honest, I expected.

“Yes, when I was human. I married when I was twenty, the year after my family were killed. Her name was Ida and in our nine years together, she bore me three sons and two daughters. She was a tremendous woman, a perfect wife and mother,” I reply, remembering her fondly.

“You had children too?” Her surprise is humorous to me, but expected since the vampire who she knows is in stark contrast to the human I used to be.

“Remember, I was once human. My wants and urges of course extended to having a family of my own, children running around my feet and a beautiful wife to take care of. Just because that is not the life I would wish for as a vampire, it doesn’t mean I didn’t welcome it as a human,” I explain, watching her nodding, listening intently to my every word.

“Of course. Sorry, that was stupid of me not to immediately realise,” she replies, while I instantly quash that notion.

“No, not at all. Don’t ever call yourself stupid in front of me again either, because you aren’t. I’m fully aware of how complex I am,” I state, my words firm when I tell her she should never consider herself stupid.

“I’ll bear that in mind. So, how did you meet Ida?” she then asks, while I reach for a large bar of soap and a sponge, working it into a lather and gently pushing her forward, moving her hair over her shoulder and washing her back while I reply.

“She was the daughter of a wealthy Jarl from the next small town over. I met her after I’d made it known I wished to be married, the Jarl’s within my kingdom of course lining up to have their daughters marry me. Ida was the only one who stood out. We were married within a few weeks and a few months later, she was pregnant with our first child, a son we named Ulfrik, after my father,” I explain, again Tyra turning to look at me.

“You were a king?” she asks, looking surprised.

“I was, yes. Not presiding across all of Sweden, but over my home territories,” I tell her, Tyra nodding and looking impressed.

“Very interesting, I’ll ask you more about that later, no doubt. So, back to Ida. What did she look like?” She then asks me, while I move the sponge down to her arms, kissing the side of her neck and feeling her return the affectionate gesture by linking her fingers through mine, squeezing the hand not currently covering her skin in suds.

“She was tall, like you. She had this incredibly long, light red hair, so long she could sit on it. She was a stunning woman, very much so,” I reply, closing my eyes and being able to see Ida there clearly in my mind, a place she will never, ever leave.

“So, you mentioned you were with her for nine years. I’m a little afraid to ask…was that because you were turned after nine years and you couldn’t go back to her?” she then tentatively asks questions, moving her hair as I begin washing her other arm.

“No, it wasn’t. She died a few months before I was turned, as did two of our children. It was a fever that got them, which back in those days was so very common, one of the most common causes of death. I’d been away raiding in England for three months when I returned to find that Ulfrik, just eight years of age and such a man before his time, had buried her, his younger brother Melker and his infant sister Astrid, leaving just him, Jonas, and Elisabet.

“Sadly, the three of them were very sick. I spent the next four weeks trying as hard as I could, with the help of the servants, to save them. The baby, Elisabet was next to die, she was just too small at five months old, she needed her mother’s milk, but all we could nurse her with was goat’s milk and it just wasn’t enough. Jonas was next and then Ulfrik. I lost them all over something in this day and age just wouldn’t be an issue.

“Two months after Ulfrik’s passing I had returned to raid England further; this is when was made after becoming mortally wounded on the battlefield just outside of the town now known as York. My maker told me he’d watched me, said to me what an amazing warrior he thought I was, what strength I had.

“It’s remarkable, the amount of fight humans have left in them when everything else has been lost. But then again, that’s a Viking for you,” I explain realising that I didn’t even notice I’d dropped the sponge into the water, or that Tyra had turned around in the bath to face me as some point during my explanation.

“He was right, when he said you had strength. Now I understand even more why vampires harden themselves to emotions. I think if I had to carry such a memory for a thousand years, especially after what happened to your family, I’d be hard too. I don’t want to sit here and gush out sympathy, you’re too much of a proud man for that, Eric, but I am sorry that they didn’t go on to lead longer lives. Of course, that is undoubtedly what you would have wanted for them whether you were made or not, right?” she replies softly, leaning forward to kiss my cheek.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I would have wanted for them, regardless of my fate,” I confirm, picking the sponge up out of the water.

“I’m going to have the good grace to change the subject, because this face says one thing loud and clear, that you’ve spoken enough of the past,” she decides, stroking my cheeks with her fingertips before we fall into the kind of kiss that would break all lines of verbal discourse anyway, lying back in the water with her on top of me, the sponge again being let go of as I wrap both of my arms around her.

“You’re a very challenging woman, Tyra,” I tell her as soon as our kiss breaks.

“Well, I could have told you that,” she begins with a small laugh. “Why do you think that, though?”

“Because I know you’re going to challenge me.”

**Tyra’s POV.**

“You know, you do have to let me go at some point, Eric,” I say idly, still feeling quite overwhelmed by the last twenty-four hours, how affectionate he’s become towards me, almost treble how he was before.

I’m not naïve, though. I know it’s something to do with feeding upon me that makes him like this. It isn’t all just me. Still though, it feels lovely, witnessing this particular version of Eric, showing me a totally different side to the usual cold, unfeeling, stoic vampire.

“I’m fully aware of this, but I just don’t want to.” He replies, standing in the office with me in his arms, stroking my hair. We’ve been together for the last day and a half almost, him first arriving at my home yesterday evening at 8pm sharp after our kiss in the office.

It’s now 1am, twenty-nine hours later and we’re only parting because he’s leaving the state to head to Mississippi on business, as he told me, not adding any more detail than that. That’s absolutely fine, he doesn’t have to tell me every in and out, every intricacy of his life just because I had sex with him. I’m not that demanding or needy. All he told me was that he’d be back by the time I’d be here next on Wednesday, so I only have six days to wait to see him again.

“Well, this tired lady needs to go and find her bed after what you’ve put me through,” I sigh tiredly, watching him smirk triumphantly at the memory of our marathon sex sessions.

“Speaking of which, are all your aches, pains and abrasions feeling less tender now? That was one hell of a sexual bludgeoning I inflicted upon you,” he asks, since half an hour ago I had to have some of his blood, I was in such great pain internally. To be precise, I felt like my vagina had been sandblasted, something that amused Eric greatly to hear.

“They are, thank you,” I confirm, smiling at him and being granted a very long, soft kiss upon my lips. With that, we say our goodbyes and I leave him in the office studying the computer screen, heading out into the bar and noticing straight away that all the staff are staring at me in an inquiring way, probably all no longer in the dark over the reason why they haven’t seen their boss, or me, in the last day and a half.

There’s only one Fangtasia employee who quizzes me on it, though, and that’s the lady standing at the door.

“Well, well, well. He’s finally untied you, then?” Pam asks, looking me over with an amused expression.

“He likes me to use my hands, so he didn’t do that,” I reply, kissing her cheek when she offers it forward and gives my shoulders a squeeze.

“Finally, you both get it out of your systems. I am pleased, now perhaps you won’t be perpetually horny and he won’t be tearing around here like a bear with a sore head, or rather a vampire with a sore balls because you keep refusing him,” she snorts, looking thoroughly amused. “Let me keep you no longer, sugar. You look like you need some shut eye. We can catch up another time.” She adds, giving me another amused look while I playfully shoulder barge her to get past, turning around and winking.

“Later, Pam,” I call.

“Later, foxy lady.” she drawls, winking back and smiling before letting the next few patrons in the queue inside. Right now, I really do feel it. To be desired and wanted so much by a creature as powerful and beautiful as Eric, and then to be shown physically the measure of his want, for many, many consecutive hours, has made me feel every inch the foxy lady.

I have no idea if it was just a onetime moment of lust, or whether I perhaps might decide to take him as a lover (I know the word ‘relationship’ would never even enter his thoughts, so I’m not hoping for one) or what, but I do know that the feeling of breaking my rule about sleeping with a client did feel pretty good, to quell the four months’ worth of pent up lust for him, just to open the floodgate and let it all out.

I feel remarkably relaxed for getting out all than tension, I must say. As I ride home in a cab, I replay little pieces of what transpired between us over the past day through my head, how amazing the sex was more than anything, but also the way in which he opened up to me about his life as a human.

I certainly never expected to hear that way back in the 980’s he’d been a family man, his children Ulfrik, Jonas, Melker, Astrid and little Elisabet the complete centre of his world, as well as his wife, Ida. It was truly tragic to hear he lost them to something that can be treated with something as simple as over the counter medicine and bed rest now. I felt a great injustice for him, at hearing that.

It just shows how different life was back then, which was something I was even more keen to learn of, having a direct source of history right there in the bathtub with me, yet I left it because I didn’t want to invade upon his private and personal memories any more than I already had. Those are for him, not for me. I think he appreciated that, too.

Also, I think he enjoyed being asked about everything he’d seen over the last thousand years, the life he’d lead of a vampire, which he was only too happy to inform me of after we’d retreated from the bath and ended up wrapped around each other in bed again.

'You’re so refreshing, usually all people want to know are the mundane things, the frequently asked questions, if you will. Why can’t you see sunlight? Why can’t you still eat food? Can you still have sex? Do you actually feel pain even though you can heal yourself? Can I see your fangs? Will you bite me? Will you make me a vampire? Not one of those awful questions has passed your lips, so for that I thank you. Now, what century in particular would you like to know about?’

That’s what he told me, while I excitedly requested that I wanted to learn more about every era of time he’d experienced. I wanted to know the zeitgeist of each culture, of each decade he’d ever lived in. I was thirsty to know it all, more about this earth, through the eyes of a vampire who’d walked it for a millennia. So, he told me.

He didn’t reveal everything, of course. I think we got up to about the fifteenth century before he expressly wished not to have his mouth 'occupied by words any longer’ as he put it. Yeah, five seconds after that and it was between my legs again. I didn’t complain at all.

When I arrive home, I shake off the rain once under the cover of my porch, receiving a welcoming shove in the legs from Poon, circling my ankles in her usual kitty like manner. I’m surprised she’s actually here and not off deep in the forest somewhere. Another thing I’m surprised about is that I got so caught up in Eric that I left my cell right here on the counter in the kitchen, where I’d put it after leaving Lafayette’s.

As well as a text from the man himself asking what I decided, stating that I can’t leave him in suspense any longer, I have a text from Danny, the man who I was meant to be going on a date with tonight. Oh, crap. I’d totally forgotten he even existed, truth be known. Even if I’d have had my cell with me, I really can’t say I would have been that bothered about answering.

I know that sounds mean, brushing him off because I got a better offer, but hey, at least I’m honest. Although I’ll keep back some of that honesty when I let him down gently. Since last night he hardly seems relevant any more, no matter how much I professed to like him to people like Pam and Lafayette, Anna and Dmitri, too.

I think Lafayette was right when he said all I was doing was using him as a way to stop thinking about Eric. He’s such a nice guy, so he doesn’t deserve me to be cold or cruel when I extradite myself from the situation with him.

'Hey, I’m really sorry I wasn’t here when you came to pick me up earlier, and that I didn’t get in touch to cancel our date. Look, I’ll be honest, I think you’re great but I’m not really in the right frame of mind for anything between us to continue. You’re a great guy and deserve a little honesty, so there it is. You’re amazing and gorgeous, though. You’ll find another gal soon enough. T.’ A few minutes later and I have a reply.

‘Hi, Tyra. I can’t say I’m not a bit disappointed, but I appreciate your honesty. Later, babe.’ Well, that was all very simple and adult like. It leaves me free to go about my pressing duties in peace, tidying up and putting a load of washing on, including the sex messed sheets Eric and I rolled around in, which are covered in sweat and cum stains.

I replace them for a fresh set, the very ones I bought to replace Eric’s which have fast become my favourites with how soft they are. Of course, they’re nothing like the quality of his bed linen, but they’re lovely all the same. Within them is a place I’m glad to climb after quickly making myself a sandwich and showering.

Even though the linen has been changed and I’ve showered, I can still smell Eric, though, thinking it nice that I can smell him here even when he physically isn’t as I drift off happily, utterly exhausted from him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking forward to your thoughts, as ever.

**Tyra’s POV.**

‘Afternoon. How’s everything going in Jackson?’

The above is the text message I sent to Eric, two days after he left the state and two days after I saw him last. That was four days ago and so far, I’ve had no reply. This is about as much as I should have expected really and would have expected if I hadn’t received this message when he arrived there.

'I’m looking forward to seeing you again, all of you in case you were wondering about specifics. Also, yes, I’m doing that weird thing I do, as you refer to it as, while I type this.’

The weird thing he referred to was of course when he smiles. It was quite a sweet message from him, I noted, for him to reveal that the thought of seeing me again made him smile. I replied, letting him know the sentiment was shared.

I know why he hasn’t replied, too. My blood has worn off. The way he acts, so differently when he’s fed from me to when he hasn’t, is definitely like watching the mood swings of a drug user, how differently they act when they’ve imbibed their substance of choice to how they act when they haven’t used it. Eric is that to a T right now.

My blood must only affect him for a certain time, it would seem, because his complete all out ignorance at my last message really does seal it for me, since it’s now been four days since I’ve seen him, two since I sent the message he didn’t bother replying to. Unless of course he’s just busy, he did say he was out there on business, after all. Or maybe there’s something up with his phone, or the cell signal has dipped or something.

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, would you listen to me? I’m doing that pathetic female thing of second guessing everything the man she’s interested in/sleeping with is doing, or not doing in this case. Tyra, you need to stop before you sound any needier than you already do.

It’s never been in my nature to wonder why I haven’t received a call or text back from a man, as I’ve always remained rational over the reason so it’s never bothered me before. Why should I let it bother me now?

Ahhh, yes. There it is. I saw the other side to him and I liked it so much that I never want to witness mean Eric again. He told me himself he didn’t want me to either, didn’t want me to be used to his frowning face, more accurately. The level of intimacy we slipped into, it was just unreal.

He told me so much more about his life than I ever expected, for one thing. Then of course, there was the simplicity of how all this made me feel, how…oh god, shut up, Tyra! Just shut up! It’s only your blood that makes him like this. It’s all an illusion, snap out of it, girl, for fucks sake!

Moving on from becoming one of those pathetic women I detest, I decide to go for a run instead, knowing it’ll assist in clearing my head. With the air hitting my face sharply as my feet pound the forest floor, the sounds of the nearby swamp all around me the further out I run and sweet Terry Bellefleur waving to me from his fishing boat out in the middle, Eric is soon a distant memory.

I’m all clear headed and peaceful right up until I arrive at the Bronson/Kuznetsov residence an hour later for my pre-arranged visit, the cries of my best friend’s eight-week-old daughter greeting me loudly before I’ve even walked up their drive.

“See, look who’s come to see you! You have to be quiet now Auntie Tyra is here!” Anna pleads somewhat to Bella as she lets me in, with a very loud and very pink faced baby in her arms, giving me a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek in greeting.

I return the same gestures and then, being the good friend that I am, take the squealing small person from her. I hate these smelly, loud little things with a passion, but Bella is an exception. She is very beautiful, but I don’t enjoy the decibels she can reach. She usually settles well for me, too. Not on this occasion, though, it would seem

“She’s still cranky then, I see,” I reply lightly, watching Anna yawn and sweep back her messy, golden blonde hair, tying it all back up before rubbing her eyes as we walk through to the back yard.

We take our seats on the outdoor couch, basking in the lovely April sunshine while little Miss mouth continues to make her displeasure known. All the bouncing and soothing I partake in do not work to pacify it any, either.

“Yes, she’s only content when she’s nursing or when her daddy is pulling silly faces at her. I’m utterly useless. I can’t even calm my own baby down,” Anna sighs, looking depressed.

“Hey, that’s my best friend you’re shit talking about over there,” I begin, still bouncing Bella in my arms. “From what I understand, which is limited, kids are damned hard work, aren’t you?’ I then add, the last part to Bella. She’s crying real tears, too, not just noise for the sake of it. No wonder Anna feels how she does.

“I know, it’s just hard because she lived inside me for so long and I feel such a bond to her, but sometimes I just don’t think she likes me much,” she confides, suddenly bursting into tears.

Ahhh, shit. I’m not the best when people start to cry. It makes me very uncomfortable, but I love my friend so move to wrap my arm around her, Bella in the other, still howling like an opossum caught in a snare.

“Come on, don’t cry. You’re doing a brilliant job. It’s impossible to know why a baby cries all the time, isn’t it, to know exactly what they need. From where I’m sitting, she’s getting everything she needs already, which doesn’t make you a bad mom at all. Also no, she doesn’t like you, she loves you. You’re her entire world,” I attempt to reassure her with, making Anna smile at last as she dries her eyes.

“Thank you, you always say the right thing,” she begins, kissing my shoulder. “Here, give me this little noise machine, let me see if she wants another feed.” Taking Bella back gently from me, she drops her dress and unhooks her nursing bra, the baby latching on immediately and then…silence.

“Ahhhhh, better!” She exclaims, looking a lot more serene. Dmitri can have the baby for a day at the weekend, I just decided I’m going to spoil her and take her out for the day. She deserves some pampering, getting her hair and nails done, which are about the only typically girly pastimes I enjoy.

“Let’s just hope she’s still like this when there’s no nipple muffling the sound,” I say, making her laugh, something I think she needs right now.

“So anyway, kitty cat. How’ve you been keeping? It seems like forever since we last caught up,” she then asks me, stroking a tiny eyelash away from Bella’s cheek as she looks down at her adoringly.

“Fine, the usual. You know me, I’m boring. If I’m not working, I’m not doing much else,” I reply, watching her nod.

“Hold on, no third date with Danny? I thought you were really into him, regardless of how quickly you’d met him?” She quizzes me.

“Ah, yeah. Erm, something got in the way of that. That something being somebody. Eric,” I reveal, watching her eyes widen.

“You didn’t!” she exclaims, mouth now as wide as her eyes, slapping my thigh for emphasis.

“I did. Many, many times,” I confess, cringing.

“I knew it! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation! Oh my god! So, what was it like? Do they even do it like we do still? Was it a onetime thing, or what?” She inquires, her questions free flowing like a torrent.

“It was amazing, too good, to be honest. Yes, having sex with a vampire is the same in that respect, except they can move faster and go for longer than a human. As for if it was a one-night thing or not, yeah, I think so,” I reply with a nod, happy to draw the line under it as just that.

I don’t want to sit here and go over all the finer details, like how he changes when he drinks my blood, how we were together, because it’s pointless. On my run I decided something, phase two of 'The plan of Lafayette’, as I like to call it. If he fucks with me when I see him again, starts messing with me, I’m gone. Simple as that. I’ll just hand my notice in and tell him he can find another moron to fuck and do his goddamned books.

“Damn! That sounds hot for a creature with a body temperature of below zero! Are you happy with that though, it just being a one-night stand?” she asks, wiping away dribbled milk from Bella’s cheek as she continues to suckle happily.

“Yeah, of course. I can just file it along with the rest of the stories I plan to tell your grandchildren, since I’ll never have of my own,” I reply, making her chuckle softly again.

“I think that one might border too much on TMI and besides, when that happens it probably won’t be so taboo either,” she points out, which is true, I guess.

“Yeah well, if they ask me, I can say yes and leave it at that.” I reply with a shrug, this time laughing a little myself. With that, the subject of Eric is firmly closed, not dwelling on it any more that afternoon or evening during the time I spend with my friends. I just enjoy their company and feel very pleased for them that Bella went down without fuss, still sleeping soundly when I leave at close to 11pm.

Over the next two days, I manage to keep myself so busy, I scarcely think of Eric much all. I fill my time with work, getting everything done and all of the box files dropped back to their rightful owners, booking Anna and I in at a salon on Saturday and plenty of running between it all.

I even fit in a little socialisation, too. Take tonight, for example, where I met Lafayette’s new guy in Merlotte’s and enjoyed two bottles of red to myself, having a great time getting to know Jesus. However, I know it’ll leave me with a slightly bad head the morning afterwards, which isn’t the way I really wanted to feel when coming face to face with Eric again.

I arrive at 5pm sharp the following evening, being let in by Ginger and then babbled at over whether or not I’ve seen her red leather jacket anywhere, complaining that she had $50 in the pocket. I tell her that I haven’t before heading in the direction of the office, wondering how much work I can get done before I’m disrupted by a certain someone.

A certain someone is already there when I enter, though. He’s not alone either. Oh no, he’s sat in the chair with Deborah draped across his lap, running his tongue up the side of her neck, his hands down her top playing with her breasts, deliberately setting this up so I’d walk in and see it. Nothing says fuck you more to the woman you had sex with the previous week than by setting up being caught about to do the same with another. Except there’s no way in hell I’m giving him the satisfaction of knowing I care.

“You’ll have to do your work elsewhere today, Miss Boden. As you can see, the office is occupied right now,” he drawls at me, his face smug, lit up even as he waits for some kind of reaction.

“That’s fine, I have my laptop on me anyway so I’ll just go out and work in the bar, keep Ginger company while she bottles up. Hey Deb, great dress by the way, hon,” I reply cheerfully, without a hint of anything other than total calm normality to my voice as I pick up the box file from off the desk, smile at them both and then leave. God, I surprised even myself, how well I handled that. Fuck you right back, Eric.

Inside, though, make no mistake. My fury at what a bastard he is and how much he enjoys playing with people burns like a forest fire. I maintain he will not get one over on me, though. I shan’t let him, absolutely not. Eric will not win.

“Why y'all up here and not down in the office?” Ginger asks me, a little startled when I dump my bag down on top of the bar and remove my laptop, putting the box file down next to it

“Eric’s busy in there. Care to plug this into the outlet just down there for me?” I ask, passing her a plug and pointing at the outlet down by the bottle fridges, realising that minute by minute, angry as I am, I’m just as upset too. I hate myself for it, for letting him hurt my feelings. Feelings I never wanted to have for him.

“Oh, right.” she replies lightly, yet her eyes tell me she knows exactly why Eric is busy. She’s not as dumb as she seems, Ginger. She affirms that for me by pouring me a small glass of red wine and sliding across the bar to me a few moments later.

“On me,” she says, leaning forward to give me a little hug I fleetingly return, sympathy all over her face when she looks at me again. “You’re not the first.”

“I doubt I’ll be the last, either. Anyway, work calls.” She takes the hint and leaves me to it, where my peace is undisturbed for a total of ten minutes, before Pam enters.

“Hello, blondie. May I inquire as to why you’re sat up here instead of being hunched over the PC in the office?” she asks, coming up behind me and squeezing my shoulders, before sliding onto the bar stool next to me.

“Because Eric’s too busy playing childish games to let me work in there,” I tell her, not looking away from the screen.

“Childish games that involve a certain bar manager who isn’t where she should be around now?” Nail on the head, Pam.

“How did you guess?” I state with mild sarcasm, turning to face her.

“Because I knew he would, I knew he’d pull some kind of stunt like this, just to push you away because of how he feels. This is all him, you’ve done nothing wrong. You know what? I’m sick of this game he’s playing with you. It ends now.” She disappears like a shot, the office door opening and shutting around the corner, a few seconds after that the same noise again before Deborah appears.

“Just so you know, Tyra, I knew exactly what he was planning, you walking in and seeing us like that. I wanted no part of it, though,” she confirms as she walks past me and around the bar, pressing a hand to my shoulder while I sit and have a realisation come over me. What the hell am I even still doing here?

“You know, Deborah, I honestly do appreciate that. However, I’m about ten minutes past caring,” I reply, finishing my little glass of red as I shut down the file I’m working on, and then my laptop too while I throw all the invoices back in the box file. “I’m gone, nice knowing you.”

“Good choice, darlin’, you’re too good for him. In every sense.” She tells me, smiling as I pick up the box file and then head down to the office to give my soon to be ex-client and one-time sexual partner the news. Except when I reach the office door, I can hear Pam mid-rant, so hold back in order to hear what she has to say to him. This’ll be good.

“Eric, never, in the hundred years I’ve known you have you gone to such lengths to fuck with someone’s head, and then try to make them jealous. Why? If you don’t care about her like you keep professing you don’t, then why are you continually screwing with her life? Glamouring Darren to forget all about her, making her fall down a flight of stairs, a fall that would have killed her? Just so you could get your blood into her and keep emotional tabs on her? Threatening me with having my fangs too if I ever told her?

“Do you know what that’s been like for me? She’s become a friend to me and you’ve made me lie to her because you know my duty and loyalty as your progeny binds me to you. That’s not the Eric Northman I know, how you’re acting is below you. You’re too good for this and in all honesty, that woman out there is too good for you!

“You’re hurting her because you can’t stand the fact she’s not just a fuck to you, as well as your single-minded obsession with finding out what she is. With all the respect in the world, I still have to say I’m appalled right now!” Pam fumes strongly, yet without raising her voice even once.

No one will have the chance to shout though, because I’m finishing this right now. Setting the box file down on the floor, I open the office door and walk in boldly, being met with a sharp look from Eric immediately.

“You, you will always be my friend, what I overheard will never change that,” I first say, pointing at Pam and watching her nod, looking like she’s bracing herself a little. “As for you?” I begin, storming around the desk to Eric. “This is for almost killing me. Rot in hell, you asshole. By the way, I quit.” Balling my fist, I take a mighty swing and punch him straight in the face, the addition of the silver ring I’m wearing burning him to the side of his nose as he grunts in pain, skin smouldering, his nose suddenly pouring with blood.

Suddenly, I feel a force grab me, Pam moving me out of harm’s way as she uses herself as a shield, herding me into the corner protectively as she puts herself between me and an enraged Eric.

“What the hell is that hanging around your neck?” he suddenly asks, perplexing both Pam and I as we just stare at him.

“I punch you in the face and you inquire about my jewellery? Just what kind of a deranged fuck are you, Eric?” I splutter with incredulity, anger rising in my voice. What fucking planet is he on?

“Who gave you that key?” He shouts, pushing Pam out of the way and stepping closer to me, staring at the little brass key on a thin gold chain, a gift given to me by someone very, very dear.

“None of your business!” I spit back, my temper beginning to flare.

“Tell me who the fuck gave it to you!” He roars, grabbing my throat and lifting me from the floor as he shunts me against the wall.

“Eric, she can’t breathe! Eric!” Pam shouts urgently, grasping his arm. “Look at yourself, stop this!” she then adds, her maker finally letting go.

“The man everyone made me believe was my imaginary friend when I was little. This is the only proof I ever had that he was real, now will you just let me go? I’ve had enough of you for one lifetime, Eric!” I yell, loathed to show him fear even though within, it’s flooding me like a torrent.

“If our Godric’s are the same, then no, he wasn’t imaginary. He was very real. He was also my maker.” He snatches my necklace with a swift yank, disappearing in an instant.

“Wh-what?” I stammer, Pam holding my arms supportively, looking flabbergasted. He knew Godric? My Godric was Eric’s maker?

“You knew Godric?” She asks me, with wonder in her voice.

“I don’t know anything anymore.” I sigh, picking up my bag from where it got flung when Eric grabbed me and running out as fast as my feet will take me, huge sobs welling up in my throat, sobs that I only let out once I’m out of the bar and back in my car.

Here in privacy, I proceed to cry my eyes out in a mixture of anger, upset and confusion, confusion over everything. It’s like someone flipped a switch and I no longer know up from down. Godric really, truly was real. He never looked a day older in all of that time because he was a vampire and now, as I learn, the one who made Eric. I cannot even begin to process all of this.

**Eric’s POV.**

As soon as I saw it glinting around her neck, I recognised the little symbol on the flat face of the tiny brass key hanging upon the gold chain I now have in my hand. Why? Because it’s the same symbol that’s embossed onto the lock on the box Godric bequeathed to me, the one I’ve never been able to open. Until now of course, now I understand why he sent her to me.

Obviously whatever is in this box is important and he used her as an unaware secret keeper or a set up similar to that, giving her the key and then pointing her in my direction years later, clever enough not to give her a clue about any of it, even convincing her he wasn’t real by the sounds of it. He was nothing short of brilliant in his intelligence. Now I have what I need, I can easily let Tyra walk out of my life.

Taking the box off the shelf I’ve been storing it upon, I sit down on the couch and place it on the table in front of me, putting the key into the lock and turning it to hear that magic noise I’ve wanted to hear since it was first delivered to me. Lifting the lid, I see two envelopes and an old yet pristine scroll within.

I have absolutely no idea how long the scroll is until I study how many times it’s been wound around itself neatly, getting up to crouch down behind the couch, holding one end of the scroll and then pushing the other end out to unravel it. When I push it, the slight slope of the floor giving it momentum, I find it doesn’t stop, still coiled around itself a little when the wall right over the other side of my home provides a buffer for it to come to a halt against.

Cast my eyes down, I take in what is immediately written neatly as I read the names Astrid Boden and Ulfrik Northman, the names Eric Northman, Felix Northman and Freya Northman all stemming from them. Me and my siblings, of course. It’s my family tree, except it’s stretching a hell of a lot further than I ever thought it could, but then noticing it again I look closer and see a line leading from my grandparents splitting in two to show my mother and us and also my Uncle, Thomas Boden.

It is from Uncle Thomas where the line then descends from all the way across the parchment that’s unravelled across my floor. Picking it up in my hands as I study it, I see a meticulous record of the family line from the Boden side, spanning through the years, each with a black line marked to show the end of a particular family line off the main trunk of the family tree, if you will.

The line continues, entering the 1700’s and still getting no closer to the end. The detail is incredible, revealing descendants I didn’t even know I had, since Thomas Boden was missing and was presumed dead back in the year 972AD. Here they all are, impeccably catalogued in the order they lived and died, right up until here, right up until the last name appears at the very end of the parchment.

“Tyra Boden.” I whisper, dropping the scroll in shock. Leaving it there on the floor I get up, almost floating over to the couch again, crashing down and sitting staring right ahead of me, hardly able to believe this. No wonder she felt so familiar, I was sensing my own blood. That was what it was all the time.

Taking the box, I pick up the two letters, one addressed to me and the other to Tyra. Taking the one with my name written upon the envelope I open it up and unfold it to read the following -

_Eric,_

_If you are reading this, then you know part of the reason why I sent Tyra to you. I hope that perhaps having a very distant family member of sorts, a descendant, someone who you may have noticed is very much like you in a lot of ways (loyal, stubborn, beautiful and intelligent to name a few) will fill the void my absence leaves._

_You are all the other has left in the world, of course. I do hope that you look after one another. I know you’re capable of doing so, Eric. Tyra is a very, very special woman. I’ve watched over her and kept her safe since she was born. As you might well have discovered, she is no regular human, but to write down in as many words what she is would be dangerous to her safety._

_As long as Russell Edgington walks this earth, you must protect her and what she is from him. She is the last left of her kind, something you will no doubt soon discover, although you are so sharp that it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if you already knew as you read this letter. If not, keep on looking. Remember, look after her. This is a command I expect you to obey._

_Godric._

Look after her. So, what do I do? The exact opposite. Godric sends me my descendent, who also happens to be my perfect companion, and what do I do? Fuck her, feed on her, become so drawn in by her and her blood that I do everything I can to destroy the fact I enjoy her and her company, because I’m afraid to lose something I care about all over again.

No, I’m not doing that again. I’m not losing her. Not after Godric went to such pains and lengths to keep her safe for me. I have to make this right.


	16. Chapter 16

**Tyra’s POV.**

That’s twice now. Twice in as many weeks that Eric has made me cry. I hadn’t cried in over two years before this either. Fuck him for turning me into an emotional sap!

That night he turned up at my house after the Deicide gig and I agreed to go back to work for him, what was I thinking? Why did I open myself up to all of this, enjoying a flirtation with the big, bad vampire, letting my resolution over not sleeping with him get twisted, let myself get twisted by him? I let it happen. I did. I let him in and now look at me, my heart all bruised and my pride battered to death because of Eric fucking Northman.

I’m a fucking moron for having let myself be played like this, to feel this upset, to be sitting here in a puddle of fabric that is the big, old white crochet blanket I’ve wrapped myself in for comfort (since it was made by my biological mom) crying my eyes out because I don’t want to believe that some of what we shared was not real.

I can’t face acknowledging that it didn’t mean anything to him when for a while, it did mean something to me. Very much so. Lafayette was right when he described him as one of the most evil, conniving, dangerous and devious vampires around. He was absolutely right.

It’s not like I’m in love with him or anything. That’s the truth, too, not something I’m trying to convince myself of. No matter what temporary leave of my normal level headed absence I may have taken, I do not fall in love quickly. I know this for sure. However, when we were together, it felt perfect. I felt content on a whole different level to anything I’d experienced before. Clichéd but true.

What I really enjoyed the most, though? The fact he’s Swedish. Before I left him for the last time, we slipped into our home language and spoke nothing but it for hours. It was lovely. I miss my native tongue, I often talk to myself in it when I’m alone in the house. It was nice having someone there to actually speak it with though, really nice.

Another reason for my tears are my complete and all out confusion and shock about the fact I’ve been linked to Eric way longer than I ever expected, through Godric. I mean, what on earth are the chances?

Now I understand why he never aged a day, why he was pale and cold, also why I never saw him in the daytime. He was a vampire, of course, such a lovely one, too. He was way less abrasive than Eric, gentle almost, but with much strength you could always feel coming from him through his powerful aura.

I can’t even begin to try and work out why, why he visited me, why he gave me that key and why Eric snatched it away after grilling me over who gave it to me. Suddenly, a memory comes back to me, of when Eric thrust a small box in front of me recently that he couldn’t get into, asking for my help in order to pick the lock. I remember seeing the same urgency in his eyes then as I noticed when he was staring at my necklace. So somehow, this was all connected, orchestrated by Godric.

Now I think back further, that familiar voice I heard on the phone asking me for my bookkeeping services back in early January could only have been him. He hasn’t visited me since I was sixteen, but I tell you right now I’d do anything to see him at my front door, so I could ask him what the hell is going on. When I go and answer a knock at the door a little while later, I am sad that the vampire standing on the other side of it isn’t him. I can’t will him to appear, it would seem. Sadly, the one I’d rather never see again has shown up.

“Eric, I’ve had enough of you playing with me like I’m a goddamned puppet. Just go,” I sigh, weary yet angry, attempting to close the door again only for him to reach out and grab the edge, preventing me from doing so. “I take back my invitation for you to enter my home, so now you can’t even barge your way in. Fuck off.” I then add coldly, glaring at him as he reaches into his jacket pocket.

“I have a lot to be sorry for, Tyra. I want you to read these first before we can hopefully discuss that. I’ll wait until the sun comes up if I have to, for I understand my face is perhaps the last in the world you want to see right now, let alone listening to anything I have to say.” This is all he speaks, in the sincerest tone I’ve ever heard him use as he passes me a long scroll of tightly wound paper and an envelope with my name on it.

Moving back, he turns to seat himself on the edge of my porch, his back to me. Pausing by the front door after I close it again, I look down at the items in my hand and almost wonder what to do with them. This all became very strange all of a sudden.

I take them back over to the couch with me, putting the letter down beside a sleeping Poon and then unwinding the first part of the scroll, seeing my name, my birth parents names and then those of their parents. It looks like my family tree.

This is further confirmed as I continue to scan, seeing my mothers’ side of the tree break off at my grandparents, Albert and Claudia Roggman, unfold the scroll to read what essentially is a very neatly detailed copy of what is indeed family tree on the Boden side, what I assume to have been amongst the contents of that box Eric had. This is getting stranger by the moment.

Continuing studying it, I carefully unwind the parchment at one end, keeping it tidy as I go by rolling it back up again at the other, astounded by how far back this is stretching. Someone went to truly meticulous detail here, the Boden’s of the 1700’s listed, the 1500’s, the 1300’s and the 1100’s. It extends to 100AD and beyond, back to Henrick Boden, his father Alias Boden and his grandfather Thomas Boden. Thomas had a sister, I see, Astrid Boden, who was married to Ulfrik Northman. They had three children, Astrid, Felix and their eldest, Eric Northman.

I just dropped the scroll onto the floor in total shock.

I’m related to Eric? Okay so not so much related, it’s more a case of me being his last living descendant, since the Boden line ends with me, but still. The vampire I now loathe so much for his meddling in my life, nearly killing me too, is the only thing close to family I’ll ever have.

You’ve got to be kidding me. This is the stuff stories are made of, not real life in Louisiana, 2009. Jesus! I just can’t believe this, I cannot fathom it at all, the cryptic nature of this whole situation that’s suddenly unfolding before me. Remembering the letter, I tear it open eagerly in haste and begin to read, hoping it holds a little more information to pacify the unrest within my mind.

_My dearest Tyra,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I want to take this opportunity to let you know that even though we haven’t seen each other in twelve years, since soon after your sixteenth birthday when I gave to you the necklace, I never left you._

_I knew that my presence had caused conflict in your life, what with the psychiatrists visits and the stress your adoptive mother and father went through, all you faced because of it (do you remember when we buried all of your medication at the bottom of your parents garden?) so I decided it was best to watch over you from afar._

_It was always my duty to keep you safe, for more than one reason, too. Please do not think I ever abandoned you though, for I didn’t. I’ve watched over you since you were a baby, saw you grow into a curious, intelligent and strong child, upholding the same values when you became the wonderful, successful woman you are today. You’ve made me very proud._

_Now, to answer some questions you no doubt have lingering. Firstly, I wish I could be there with you to explain all of this to you, so you could sit and ask unlimited questions I would of course answer as best I could, but sadly this cannot be. In January, I met my true death, walking into the last sunrise I would ever see. I am so sorry that you had to discover this through written word, I did want to come and tell you myself of my decision, but it was just too risky. You will discover why in due course._

_I have followed your family line for centuries, guarding your forefathers and then you, with every moral fibre left in me. It was my duty to do this, as well as my wish. The main reason of this I just cannot reveal to you, there can be no written evidence of what you are, for you are not entirely human, Tyra. You are a supernatural of sorts and a rare one at that. This is why I cannot tell you, I’m afraid. It is something I wish for you and Eric to work together in discovering. Believe me, you will learn of your incredible heritage soon enough._

_Now, I’ve mentioned Eric here, which leads me on to the next part of what I wish to explain, not that it shouldn’t be pretty self-explanatory by now anyway. Of course, you are where the Boden line ends and he is where the Northman line ends. You have seen from your family tree you are his last living descendant, you are both all the other has left in the world now, family of sorts, if you will. Although, I am not naive to the fact Eric will have seen you as something quite different, as ever he is steered by his loins when it comes to women as beautiful as yourself! I doubt this has changed._

_He has lost me, but you, you my brave child, you lost everything and at such a tender age. Because of this I set the wheels in motion for you to find each other after I had met my true death. I didn’t want either of you to be alone any longer without blood kin, no matter how very, very distant._

_I actually think you’d make quite the pair, as I stated in a letter to Eric I consider you to both be as steadfast, beautiful and intelligent as each other._ _I will leave you now with the same words I left him with, which is to look after one another._

_You will need each other more than you realise right now. Please, Tyra, even though I trust Eric and his insightful decisions implicitly, keep an eye on him for me._

_Godric._

By the time I’m done reading the above, I’m in tears all over again. Reading that he is no longer here was hard, for I always hoped that one day I might see him again. It hurts very much to deal with the fact that I won’t, as well as the fact I cannot thank him for looking after me, for whatever the secretive reason, it must have been very important to him. _I_ must have been very important to him.

He said I’d made him proud, something which has only stirred my emotions further, knowing the one constant in my life was so proud of me. His words do throw me further into the realms of confusion though, having him state to me that I am not entirely human.

How would you feel to hear that? To know you’re not what you thought you were, yet still not have your ‘species’ (if that’s the correct term) identified to you? Also, compound that with the fact that I know have to work all this out with Eric and what do you get? Tyra Boden, pissed off, confused and upset. That’s what you get.

I can’t even bear to look at him right now, let alone invite him in, Hell, I doubt he’s even still out there. It’s been half an hour already, even though it feels like just a few minutes since I shut the door on him.

When I get up and head into the kitchen, taking my emergency bottle of brandy (I have to say Lafayette has given me a taste for it) from the cupboard and pouring a large measure, I can still see Eric through the window sitting on the porch step, waiting for me. I don’t even think I’d know what to say to him if I did let him come in right now, my head is spinning truly, my emotions all over the place.

Time for brandy number two, which I throw down my throat at speed, taking the glass and the bottle back into the lounge and curling up on the couch again, picking up the family tree scroll I dropped upon the floor and putting it on the small table at the side of the couch. I then take Godric’s letter to me and read it through over and over, sipping my third brandy at a steady pace rather than knocking it back like I did with the previous glasses.

All the while as I sit here, I can feel that Eric is still outside, while I remain indoors, petting a sleepy Poon and sipping brandy, wondering what the hell to do. Should I let him in, hear what he has to say and then discuss this with him? Or shall I just leave him out there in the rain that I can hear has begun to heavily fall?

I’m really stuck between a rock and a hard place here, out there is the only, even though so very distant, family I will ever have, but he just so happens to be the most devious, calculating, mean tempered man I’ve ever met. What kills me most is the fact that I know he’s capable of being anything but. I’ve seen it, felt it. He’s capable of being wonderful, yet so far he’s chosen not to be, unless under the influence of my blood.

Another hour of decision making follows, before sometime close to 11pm I finally go and open the door, seeing him stand up from the porch absolutely soaked to the skin, walking back to the door slowly.

“You’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do,” I state, watching him nod curtly, dropping his head and looking at the floor for a few moments.

“I realise that. It’s what I came here to do,” he speaks quietly. Looking back up, his gorgeous eyes meet mine as I watch raindrops trickle from his eyebrows and land on his long, blonde lashes. It makes my heart skip a beat just to see that, much to my annoyance.

“Come in.” Swinging the door back and allowing him to enter my home, I watch him walk in and then just stand there, looking big, wet and awkward. I’m glad he has the good grace to look fucking ashamed of himself. So he damn well should, too.

“You’re not sitting on my couch in those wet clothes, Go into the bathroom and get yourself dry while I find you some jeans. My ex was close to your height and he left a few pairs here, I’ll see what I can dig out.” I then add, watching him nod again while he follows me through my house. I point to the bathroom before continuing to the linen cupboard, searching behind the towels where I know I stashed some of Harrison’s clothes.

“I’m sure I do not deserve to be treated so cordially. Thank you for being so hospitable,” he replies when I return, taking off the long sleeved, black v neck sweater he’s wearing and wringing it out in the bathtub. I hand him the deep, indigo blue jeans before turning and leaving him to it. He joins me in the lounge after a few moments, holding his water sodden clothes.

“Where do you want me to put these?” He asks. 

'Here, I’ll put them through the wash,” I say, taking them from him and heading into the kitchen and through to the tiny utility room, feeling him behind me the whole time as I load the machine, put the detergent and softener in and start the cycle.

“I’m sorry, Tyra. I honestly am. No more games, no more messing your life around, no more hurting you, either mentally or physically. I’m ashamed of myself for becoming violent towards you, I truly am. You’re all I have left and I’ve treated you terribly, perhaps even as badly as I’d treat my worst enemy. All because I didn’t want to get too close to you,” he tells me, reaching out and resting his hands on my shoulders, his head nearing mine, eventually resting against my forehead.

I feel myself cave to the moment, putting my arms around him and resting my head against his bare chest. “I’m so, so sorry.” He then affirms once more, kissing my hair as he pulls me into a hug that I don’t fight. I don’t know how, but it’s different now. I know he really, truly means it this time.

“You’re not forgiven, not by a hell of a long shot. I can understand almost everything else you did, explain it away by your nature and what you are, but making me purposefully fall down a flight of stairs like that? It was beyond cruel of you to put me through that kind of pain, to put me in mortal danger.

“What if I’d had fallen to the floor and broken my neck instantly, had no traceable heartbeat when you got to me to feed me your blood? What if you couldn’t have saved my life and I’d have died there in the cellar? All just to give me your blood to keep tabs on me. It was vile and cowardly, Eric,” I tell him strongly, yet I don’t raise my voice at all, not even once. I’m too tired, too weary with all of this to shout.

“I know, I was so reckless with your safety, with your life. I know how much I’ve deeply hurt you, too. You didn’t even need to tell me that, I can feel it. Your energy, it feels different to m. I can physically feel how much distress I’ve caused you,” he states, while beginning to stroke my hair. I feel like bursting into tears all over again.

I hold it back, though, holding the sob tightly in my throat with everything I have, swallowing hard and letting go of him before we walk back into the lounge and sit down on the couch, Poon providing a nice little buffer between us.

“Okay, you told me you wanted to explain your actions. I think right now would be a good time to begin.” I state, reaching for my glass of brandy and taking a small sip, wrapping my feet in the crochet blanket I previously had around my shoulders.

He’s about to begin when suddenly, Poon awakes, Eric surprising me by stroking her head, then even more so by allowing her to climb into his lap and curl up, kitty croissant style, his fingers tickling behind her ears. She’s such an attention whore, she really doesn’t care who you are or how long you’ve been in her home, she’ll come and curl up with you if you let her. She isn’t aloof like a lot of cats can be.

“I concur, so I’ll start from the beginning. It would be an exercise in futility, I think, if I left anything out. You’re my family Tyra, my blood. No matter how extremely distantly we’re related, barely related at all, in fact, since you’re my descendant, you still deserve not to be kept in the dark. From this moment forth I will never hide anything from you again because of that.

“A week before you began working for me, I was in Dallas because a cult religious group had captured Godric and I of course was duty bound to rescue him, to find out how a vampire of his strength and integrity had been assailed by this group of brainwashed ignoramuses such as the Fellowship of the Sun.

“As it turns out, he wasn’t. He willingly let himself be captured, thinking it would all be for the greater good to let his true death be upheld by them. Little did I know, but he did want to die anyway, regardless of whom brought it about. He’d grown too old to want to carry on at almost two thousand, two hundred years old.

“It was terrible to lose him. I never imagined I could feel pain like I did when I pleaded with him not to leave me. When I returned home, I discovered he’d left me this letter,” he begins, somewhat at length, walking over to where he took off his leather jacket when he came in and hung it up to dry on the back of a chair, taking a piece of paper and giving it to me while I read the letter from Godric.

It explains that he had hired me as Fangtasia’s new bookkeeper, that Eric should not let me leave, that I’m perfect for him and that he also has no idea how valuable I am, or will be.

“Of course, then you came along to take the bar on as one of your accounts and immediately I felt like I knew you already. Of course, it was my own blood I was sensing, the ancient family tie we have to each other. Also there was your energy, too. I’ve never, ever felt an energy like yours before and that combined with Godric’s cryptic message to me made me even more determined to find out what you were and why he’d sent you to me.

“I acted ruthlessly in my pursuit of that knowledge, I know this. All the while I could feel myself developing a fondness for you, one that I didn’t want to admit to myself and if I’m honest, I still struggle with. Vampires don’t deal with having their emotions stirred very easily, as I’m sure you’ve been able to attain for yourself. Which then brings me on to when I drank your blood, when I made you fall down the stairs, I drank of you too then and what I felt was frighteningly real.

“I felt close to you in a way that I’ve never shared with any other woman bar Ida, there was something in your blood that made me loyal to you totally, not wanting to leave you. It was then that I felt remorse for what I’d done, I was honestly ashamed at myself at that time. With each time that I’ve drank your blood since, I’ve felt closer to you, felt a bond forming that I’ve tried to break, yet deep down I knew I couldn’t and actually didn’t want to do it.

“To counteract that, I told myself I could not have a weakness, could not and should not let myself open up to you like that way again. When I set it up for you to find Deborah and myself together, only half of me wanted to do it. The other half craved for it to be you in my arms, but I was too afraid to admit that to myself. Too afraid to let myself feel how I did again about a woman as I felt…” he trails off, looking away from me and down at his bare feet for a few second.

“About Ida, because you don’t want to lose someone you care about all over again,” I finish for him, hoping my simple guess is not too far off the mark. I realise it isn’t when he begins to nod.

“Yes, but also I know I could never feel again for another woman what I felt for her, I could never promise that kind of emotional investment. I’m simply not capable. Or rather, I do not feel capable, but I suppose I won’t know until I try.

“I have thought about it, believe me I have thought long and hard. I’ll I can conclude is that if I have a true weakness, it’s not being brave enough to let myself do what I so desire,” he replies, shifting a little in his seat and making Poon get up from her resting place in his lap and hop down to the floor.

“What is it that you desire to do?” I ask tentatively.

“To prove I am worthy enough for you to keep me in your life firstly, secondly to get to know you better. Everything else, whatever it is, will just have to follow that. Also, to stop acting like the gutless asshole I have become. Pam was right when she chided me, told me I was above such behaviour. I am, this I shall prove to you,” he tells me assertively.

“I can handle that. Just so we’re clear, are you saying to me that you want to, I don’t know, have a relationship of sorts with me?” I broach, nervous as to what his answer may be.

“I’d like to discover whether it’s something I’m capable of. I cannot promise you I would be, though. The only thing I’ve committed myself to for the last thousand years has been vampirism. Applying commitment to just one person would be very difficult for me to get used to, no matter how much I do genuinely enjoy your company. As I said, though, I want to try.”

I have to be honest, what he’s said so far is very fair. Honest, too, this time. Don’t ask me why, but I just know he isn’t lying to me. For that, I reward him, just a smidgen, despite the fact he’s not out of the woods with me yet.

“What was that for?” He asks, after I’ve moved closer and kissed his cheek softly.

“A thank you, for being so honest with me. No matter how brutal that honesty may have been in parts, I very much appreciate it,” I say, watching a small smile curl his lips.

“I’d also like to add here, I’ll need considerable time as well. You can’t get back on the right side of me that easily. It’ll take time for me to decide whether you are really what I want, or whether the aggravation you’ve caused me so far has damaged that idea beyond repair,” I then state. It isn’t all dependant on what _he_ feels, or if _he_ thinks _he_ can cope. I do and will have a voice in this.

“Then let’s agree to just see how things go.” If there’s only one thing I know I can firmly agree upon tonight, it’s to simply see how things go. After so much confusion, so much revelation, simplicity is nothing but a welcome thought at present.


	17. Chapter 17

“This still feels so surreal, it really does,” I state with a sigh, honestly perplexed at what has unfolded this evening.

“Yes, I agree. It will take a substantial amount of time for us both to get used to, I think. I have to ask, in the letter that Godric wrote to you, did he allude to his demise?” Eric replies, leaning back in his seat.

“He did, which will take some getting used to. I know I hadn’t seen him in a long, long time, but I always hoped I would see him again. It’s not something I particularly enjoyed learning, knowing I never will. Still, that’s your burden more than it is mine. If it still troubles you, that is?’ I ask, watching him nodding.

“It does from time to time. I hadn’t seen him in nearly sixty years when I found him in Dallas, but I could always feel him. Not being able to feel him any longer, well I suppose that’s something every vampire who has ever lost their maker struggles with for a time,” he concedes.

“It must be difficult, given your long history with him,” I offer, Eric nodding.

“Yes,” he replies with, before looking thoughtful for a few moments. “Tyra, there is something pressing we must discuss, which is the fact that Godric informed me in his letter that you are definitely not entirely human.” He then adds, his mood changing totally, becoming efficient and quite hard again, his warmer tone disappearing in the efficiency somewhere along the way.

“He didn’t say very much more about that in his letter to me, he basically just confirmed your suspicions. He told me I was a rare supernatural,” I sigh, picking at a stray thread of cotton at the bottom of my black leggings, tying it into a knot and breaking the long piece to prevent my fiddling fingers from dismantling the whole seam. I tend to fiddle when I feel under duress.

“He confided to me that you were the only one of your kind left, which means we’re going to have to do a hell of a lot of searching to discover what you are, because not much documentation exists over the rarer supernaturals out there. This is why I’m always surprised when you consider how much is known about mermaids, for example,” he explains, while I feel my jaw hit the floor.

“What?” I squeak.

“Mermaids, or merpeople as they liked to be referred to were very much real, but sadly because of increased larger scale fishing it became too difficult for them to remain a secret when they kept getting caught up in huge driftnets and brought ashore. Of course, the findings were largely hushed up by the government in whatever part of the world they’d been caught, but they died out totally about fifty years ago,” he informs me. This is something truly amazing about Eric, he really is a walking encyclopaedia.

“That’s amazing, but sad though, that they’ve all died out,” I lament.

“Now, back to you. I remember once you stated to me you had no notable qualities you could think of that were anywhere out of the ordinary, that would make you anything other than human. In light of what Godric announced to us both, I think we need to spend considerable time putting thought into that.

“I want you to sit and think, think very carefully about any kind of strange event that might have happened, no matter how trivial you might consider it to be, just anything that you’ve experienced that’s vaguely strange for some reason,” he instructs me, while I take a deep breath, holding it and then sighing it out, beginning to think of it.

“Thus far all we have to go on is that you draw in vampires, you transmit energy to us that feels pleasurable, your blood makes me feel more powerful and sharpens my senses more acutely, and you do not have the sexual appetite of a human at all. Most human women utter the word ‘ouch’ after eight hours of sex, you didn’t. Surely you’ve had lovers in the past to notice that?” he asks me, giving me a not so innocent look, like his thought pattern is being betrayed by his face. Filthy Viking.

“Yeah, every man I’ve ever been with apart from you hasn’t been able to keep up with me. They’d fall asleep and I’d keep going on my own until I was satisfied. I’m not easily sated,” I reply, watching his face change, his eyes closing and a small pained frown appearing across his forehead.

“Thank you for that, Tyra,” he says, sounding pained.

“Sorry, I was just being honest. I’ll touch myself for you at some point in the future, if you’d like to watch?” I offer brazenly, Eric shaking his head and still looking pained, yet a little entertained too.

“Now I’m stuck with that mental image,” he complains, looking at me lustfully.

“An enormous erection, too,” I observe, casting my eyes down briefly to see it slightly tenting the jeans he’s wearing.

“Care to help me with that?” he asks, running a finger up the inside of my forearm.

'You’ll be lucky. You’re getting nothing until I know for sure you’re not going to turn into a raging asshole again. Sorry,” I inform him sweetly, enjoying toying with him a little.

“Then I shall accept that as it is. After all, it’s no more than I deserve,” he concedes, looking me up and down with a wink.

“You can always take Deborah off to the basement to fulfil your needs. I suppose you will at some point,” I tell him, a little passive aggressively.

“I’m no longer interested in Deborah. If I go off and fuck any woman I please in order to keep my own levels of arousal in check while you give me the sexual cold shoulder, I won’t be doing very much to dissuade the 'asshole’ notion, will I?” He states, sharply and flatly.

“Hmm, true, Sorry.” Yeah, I think I owe him that.

“Thank you. Feel free to admonish me if I do actually fuck up and have sex with someone else, but when I have every intention of proving my intentions are quite to the contrary, don’t bust my balls.” he tells me, adding a touch more warmth to his icy words by reaching out, taking my hand and squeezing it a few times, but not letting go immediately.

He waits a few moments, almost like he’s trying the gesture on for size and then let’s go, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb before withdrawing contact. “Anyway, back to your contemplation, if you please.” I do just that, wracking my brains for anything that may have appeared unusual about me, anything I did or situations I was in that didn’t feel quite right. Talk about an impossible task! However, glancing over to my shoe rack by the door and seeing my sneakers, I’m reminded of one thing.

“I can see incredibly well in the dark, it’s like I have built in night vision. I go running through the forest when it’s as dark as it is now and I see just fine. Also, mentioning that, I do run pretty quickly,” I speak, turning to Eric and watching him nod carefully.

“A mental note has been made. Resume brain wracking,” he replies efficiently, while I do just that, thinking and thinking until my head hurts.

“Okay, I’ve given myself a headache,” I sigh painedly after about ten minutes of silence. “The only other thing I can think of is that my senses are quite sharp. When Lafayette lights a joint out on his porch, for example, I can smell it.

“Also, last week I could still smell you in my bed, even after I’d changed the sheets. I know when someone is behind me, too, no matter how quiet they are. I can feel their presence automatically. This isn’t anything out of the ordinary, though. Lots of people are like that, with keener senses. It’s not anything truly unusual,” I then add, blinking heavily a few times and trying to wake myself up a little.

“That might be the case, or they may coincidentally be traits of what you are. Either way, those details - and the ones counted previously - are not enough to deter what you are. They’re much too vague,” he laments, while I just nod.

“I’m happy just being plain ole’ Tyra right now,” I confess, watching him smile, a small burst of air coming from his nose as he makes an amused noise, putting his arm around me to pull me closer to him.

“You are far from plain,” he tells me, leaning to plant a kiss on my lips. “Sorry, am I allowed to kiss you since anything similar is off limits?” he then asks with mild sarcasm, thumb stroking my chin.

“I suppose I can allow it. You do happen to be very good at it, after all,” I relent, after thinking on it for a few moments.

“A compliment as well? I do feel honoured, just make sure you don’t stretch yourself too much, though,” he teases, this time sarcasm raging fully as he gives me a challenging look.

“Eric?”

“Yes?”

“Shut the fuck up, you prick,” I order, before pressing my lips to his and effectively doing the job for him.

Once I’m done silencing him with the kind of kisses that leave me burning with desire, I go off into the kitchen and put the kettle onto the stove, carrying on through to the laundry room to transfer his clothes from the washing machine to the dryer while I wait for the water to boil. I need coffee. Strong coffee. What a night.

“Your clothes will be dry in about half an hour,” I inform him, taking a seat beside him once more.

“Thank you,” he replies, not looking particularly happy suddenly. I guess why right away.

“Sorry, I understand that food or drink aromas aren’t particularly pleasant to vampires, but it was either this or have me fall asleep in about ten minutes,” I say, setting my coffee down on the floor to the side of my feet.

“I think I’d rather have you fall asleep,” he jokes. eyeing the coffee cup with mild disgust.

“Haven’t you gotten used to it by now?” I inquire.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it, much like I hate the smell of the chicken someone close by is currently frying, but that’s not in the same room as me so it’s easier to ignore. When the source of the smell is right there in front of me, it’s different. I don’t spend much time in such close proximity to nauseating aromas, so I shall have to put up with,” he informs me, not sounding happy at all about having to get used to something he dislikes so intently.

“Okay, I’ll attempt to stick to plainer foods when I’m around you. Although you might have to pry my spicy curries out of my cold, dead hands, though. I love Indian food,” I admit, Eric crinkling his nose slightly.

“Appreciated, but to me, everything has a strong smell. Like I can tell that so far today your cat has been asleep in the laundry, rolled next to nettles and had a fight or at least some kind of encounter with another cat. That’s how sharp my sense of smell is,” he informs me, while I nod, realising how limited my knowledge really must be.

“Poontang, what did I say about sleeping in the fresh linen?” I charge my cat with, raising an eyebrow. She meows before continuing to snooze.

“What a very appropriate name,” Eric comments, laughing a little as he leans forward and picks up a book off the table. “I can read these, you know.” He comments, taping the picture of the hieroglyphs on the cover with his fingers.

“You can read hieroglyphics? Wow, that’s impressive. I’ve learned a few, but not enough to read anything cohesively,” I tell him, glad we seemed to have now moved on from discussing my supernatural status.

“Yes. It made a change to learning languages, of which I speak quite a few.” I’m in no doubt he does, being as old as he is. 

“What else are you fluent in?” I then ask with curiosity.

“Arabic, Russian, French, Dutch, German, Norwegian, Danish, Finnish, Gaelic, Welsh, Afrikaans, Portuguese, Spanish, Japanese, Kanji, Mandarin, Urdu, Punjabi and Greek,” he replies, while I just feel amazed. Then again, he is over a thousand years old. He’s probably more staggeringly learned than I can even comprehend. “And you? What else do you speak apart from our language and English?”

“Russian and a tiny little bit of Spanish. That’s all,” I say, feeling a little inferior.

“Four languages are more than most people can speak, especially around here, where some of them have enough problems grasping English, so I’ve noticed,” he replies, making me laugh.

“Have you lived in many of the countries whose languages you speak?” I then inquire, curious to learn.

“Yes, I’m well-travelled, but it did mean spending an unfeasible amount of time on boats, travelling in a coffin right down in the bowels of the ship. I’d only surface at night to feed. I travelled from Russia to Alaska once, it took four months to get there,” he begins. “You’re too tired to sit here and listen to me speak of places I’ve been and things I’ve seen in the last thousand years. You should abandon the coffee and go to bed.” He then adds, like he’s telling me rather than suggesting the idea.

“That would be rude though, since I have a guest at present,” I state, poking him in the arm with my nail to affirm that of course, he is said guest.

“Well, your guest isn’t in a hurry to go anywhere, especially since he has no clothes to go anywhere in at the moment. Besides, you have an interesting collection of books I can work my way through while you sleep and then leave before sunrise,” he tells me, looking like he’s comfortable with the idea.

“If you’re sure,” I reply, beginning to get up.

“I am,” he affirms, rising from the couch as well to head over to my bookshelf, scanning the many titles while I head through to my bedroom, to the window to pull my blind down, plunging the room into total darkness I navigate through easily to turn on the nightstand lamp, revealing Eric standing in the doorway.

“That blind, does it let in any light at all?” he asks me, looking a little thoughtful.

“Not a flicker, it’s a blackout blind. I can’t stand to sleep in a room that isn’t totally dark,” I tell him, walking over to him as I tie my hair back with a band I found by the lamp.

“Then perhaps I shall stay, perhaps. Goodnight.” He tells me simply, leaning forward and kissing my cheek before walking away back into the lounge.

“I have to consent to you staying first,” I call while on my way to the bathroom.

“We both know you will. I’m good for cuddles, amongst other things.” Did he really just say that? “What?” He asks, smiling at my perplexed face when I poke my head around the lounge door, toothbrush in mouth.

“Stop being cute.” I warn, pointing sternly. “There will be no other things, either!” He just laughs quietly and goes back to perusing my bookshelf, muttering that I have to stop being pissed off at him at some point. I guess he’s right, but I feel like I’m not ready to. He was a gigantic asshole to me for so long, why should I be just fine with everything simply because it’s what he wants?

I know why. Because it’s what I want, too. I don’t want there to be unrest between us any longer. No matter that neither of us is entirely sure what we’ll end up becoming to one another, I know that I am sick of the tumultuousness between us. It’s exhausting. When I feel the mattress dip with his weight behind me at dawn, wrapping me in his arms and kissing my head, it’s through that exhaustion that I decide he can stay.

I sleep right through in his embrace until 9am, tuning over to move his arm from around me, placing it over onto his stomach, just looking at him for a few moments. “Fuck.” I curse, feeling my stomach do a little somersault. He’s so gorgeous.

Right now, there’s nothing I’d like more than to wake him up and have mad, passionate sex with him. However, I shan’t, because he will be made to wait, just until I can be one hundred percent certain that he’s not going to succumb to any more of his game playing or emotion unsteadiness.

I have to say though, throughout the course of my day, it’s really nice to stop and remember he’s asleep in my bed. It gives me a little glimmer in my belly whenever I think about him, sleeping soundly under my covers. I take a quick break at noon to go for a jog, eat a small sandwich and iron Eric’s clothes for him, being joined by the vampire himself just after sundown.

“Thank you for ironing my clothes, it’s an appreciated gesture,” he tells me, coming into my little office and pulling over the chair that stands in the corner before sitting down next to me.

“No problem, just give me a minute to power down and I’ll drive us to the bar. Do you mind if I do the books down in you apartment? The noise of the music always disturbs me when I work in the office during opening hours,” I ask, noticing that it’s 7:30pm. The music will be blaring loudly by the time we arrive there.

“Of course, that’s fine with me. Would you like to spend the night, too?” he replies, while I begin to close down the files I’m working on.

“Are you sure? I thought since you’d been here all night the last thing you’d want is more of me invading your time after I’m done working,” I say, turning to look at him.

“Well, if I’m going to get to know you better than I already do, it will require me to spend time with you. I don’t consider two days a week to be excessive, any more and you might start to annoy me,” he states dryly.

“Oh, well, I’d better not do that, had I?” I exclaim with wide eyes, playful in tone.

“No,” he states blankly, waiting for my reaction. I keep him waiting, just staring at him until I slowly raise my middle finger, making him laugh more loudly than I’ve ever heard. “Finally, a woman who isn’t insulted by my humour. I do tire of people who take me too seriously all of the time.”

“Well, by being as surly and aggressive as you’re famed for being, do you honestly blame some people for being unsure how to take you?” I question, standing up to stretch while my computer shuts down.

“I don’t care how they take me. All I give a shit about is you.” He leans forward and kisses my exposed tummy, standing up and leaving me to it as he exits the office. I quickly pack a bag of things I shall need before heading into the lounge, Eric waiting for me while Poon walks in a figure of eight around his ankles.

“I’m surprised you tolerate her,” I observe, watching him lean down and scratch her head.

“Vampires actually tend to tolerate cats more than any other animal. They’re independent night hunters, much like us.” He informs me, while I nod. I guess he’s right there. Still, it surprises me to see him be gentle and tolerant.

We arrive back at the bar at 8:10pm, with him staying upstairs while I head downstairs and begin working, setting my alarm on my phone to go off at 11pm, when I’ll head out and down the street to where they have a few takeout places and diners all in close proximity so I can get something to eat without bringing food smells in with me. I appreciate it’s something he doesn’t like, so I’m prepared to make allowances for it.

He’s making a big enough allowance right now, for him this is very welcoming behaviour, wanting me near to him, staying with me last night. Still, I confess that half of me makes sure I don’t enjoy it too much, because you can never really tell with Eric. Time will tell, though.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am going to resume posting this again, probably just weekly updates for now as I read and edit the work at a pace to suit me and my commitments, but rest assured, these updates will happen!

**Eric's POV.**

“So then, may I question why, when you have Tyra downstairs, are you feeding from Deborah?” Pam asks me after the aforementioned bar manager has sauntered out of the office again. “Also, may I enquire as to what the fuck is going on, too? I think you owe me, as I have the distinct feeling there are things I'm being kept in the dark over.” She then adds, sitting down and elegantly resting her feet up on the desk, crossing her legs at the ankle and clicking one spiked heel off the desk top, giving me an expectant look.

“You're right, I do have a matter I need to fill you in over. I'll try to do it as quickly and simply as possible, even though it is far from simple. Basically, when I thought I was the last left of my family, I was wrong. It turns out that through my mothers' side of the family, Tyra is my last living descendant, and has been guarded by Godric for her entire life.

“That key she had around her neck yesterday, he gave it to her years ago. It was the key to open the box he left for me, which contains this, my family tree and two letters addressed to Tyra and I. They also lamented to the fact she is indeed a supernatural and an extremely rare one at that. Alas no, before you ask. We do not know her identity. Godric said it would have been dangerous for what she is to have been noted like that.

“As to why I'm not feeding from her, well, I feel it'd be reckless to do so, considering feeding from her only draws me closer to her. It has been noted in the past vampires can form blood bonds with supernatural creatures, so I'm wary to the fact that could be happening,” I reply, watching Pam's eyebrows rise.

“Well how about that. You find you you've got family, and it happens to be a woman you've fucked. Hillbilly,” she teases, smiling with mischief and triumph at her observation.

“It doesn't count when there's one thousand and two years between us, but it counts enough for me to be responsible for her safety from now on, for one thing,” I inform her, watching her nod.

“And everything else?” she inquires.

“I won't commit to anything, but suffice to say she is more to me now than just the bookkeeper,” I state, not wishing to be drawn into a conversation of this nature.

“Bah, why am I even asking you? I'll just talk to her later.” She huffs, waving a hand in a dismissive way before exiting the office and heading back out to the front of the bar. The only person I really do need to discuss that with at the moment is myself, as this is something entirely new to me. Well, it is as a vampire at least, with no want or need for a companion, but finding that stance becoming somewhat altered by the young lady downstairs.

The fact that she is my blood is good enough reason for my interest, but what Godric lightly eluded to, her rare status within the supernatural world, only captivated that interest more. Is it possible I could be satisfied in a monogamous arrangement with one woman? That would depend on what she expected of me. At this point in time, I'm not willing to verbally, or even mentally commit myself to anything.

Still, the pull I feel to her, growing ever stronger whenever I feed on her, is something very real. It’s also slightly concerning, since when I do feel on her, her blood intoxicates me to a level where I do not care about anything else. Something else I have noticed is that I have begun to be able to detect her inner mood or feelings from her energy, too.

I could tell earlier how mentally exhausted she was, just from sitting next to her, my leg just about touching hers. It feels different when she's sleeping, more of soft gentle hum conducted into me from where her body presses against mine. It is something I find myself very much liking to feel, that energy which is too enticing by far.

Then there’s the other obvious enticement. Simply, she's beautiful. Every last inch of her is beautiful, totally unspoiled by adornments such as piercings or tattoos (which I'm no fan of particularly) and she looks magnificent naked. I feel a little aggrieved that all I can do right now is lie next to that nakedness and keep my hands to myself.

She's worth it, that's something I cannot deny. Just like I cannot deny that the pull to her is beginning to become much stronger. Strong enough to ensure I'm only away from her until 1am, when I retreat down to my apartment for the night.

“I half expected to find you asleep,” I tell her as I enter, bolting the door behind me and walking over to where she is curled up on the couch with her laptop, still typing away.

“No, but I am about to finish up with this for the night, I've caught up with everything I've missed out on recently,” she replies as I sit down next to her.

“You're extremely industrious,” I observe, noting the fact that her work is her number one priority for her to only just be stopping at 1:05am.

“I’m nothing short of a self-confessed workaholic through and through,” she says, flicking through the screens she has open, opening an email in her inbox and beginning to read through. It's when she does this that something catches my eye.

“What's that?” I ask her curiously, unable to help my amusement when she hides her face partially behind her hand and makes a groaning noise.

“Nothing, I was just looking up supernatural creatures on the web earlier, seeing if anything looked familiar. But then I realized I don't have a clue which are real and which are mere fabrications of someone's overactive imagination,” she confesses, looking a little embarrassed.

“I can answer those questions for you,” I inform her, taking her by the waist and pulling her onto my lap, watching her turn her head and give me a curious look. “I can't see the screen properly when you're sat over there. Now I can.” Not strictly true, but I’ll use pretty much any excuse I can to touch her, feel her energy.

“Okay then, so I know I'm not any of these more obvious ones, but I'd still like to know if they exist or not and how they keep so well hidden,” she states, pointing at the list on the screen.

“Yes, vampires obviously since you're sitting on one right now,” I begin humorously, Tyra laughing softly. “Werewolves are, witches as well, even though only natural witches are assumed supernatural, not practitioners who've learned the craft. Angels are believed to exist, although it cannot be confirmed or denied, demons definitely do, too. Then there’s ghosts, as well as a whole other offshoot of that with your various good and evil spirit creatures, but not many of those exist any longer. The witches of this earth take care of that.

“Shape shifters are real, zombies are not, Medusas were real a very, very long time ago, as were a lot of the ancient mythical creatures mentioned below, fairies are real and also rare like you, but you are not one of them. I have the distinct feeling you're a thousand if not more times as rare as anything you could ever search for on the internet,” I reply at length while scanning the list, watching her clicking onto the next page and sighing.

“I don't like it when I can't work something out, it annoys me,” she grumbles, looking as frustrated as I feel over it, even though I'm the one who's had it gnawing away at him for the last five months, almost.

“Well, in spending a little more time in your company, I'm hoping I'll begin to notice other traits about you that might give away what you are,” I tell her, not able to resist the urge to stroke her long, soft hair.

What are you, beautiful creature? It's one of two things on my mind, the second being my plan of revenge against Russell Edgington, which can finally be executed when he, Sophie Anne, Talbot and their entourage return to Mississippi tomorrow. To make the marriage between Sophie Anne and he more convincing to the powers that be, a honeymoon was necessary, one which I saw them depart on two weeks ago.

The comfort of a loving wife, somehow I think that is what the king of Mississippi will require most in the aftermath of what's to come.

**Tyra's POV.**

“Now for my favourite part of the evening. File, save, done!” I announce happily as I turn to Lafayette, who's sitting next to me in my office, clapping in celebration. I ducked in to do a bit of finishing off an hour ago and he's been sitting next to me surfing my laptop, using the line that usually hooks up to the PC. You can't get Wi-Fi all the way out here, we consider ourselves lucky just to qualify for broadband.

“Well I'll drink to that, hooker.” He replies, tapping his glass of red against mine. I decided I could do with some company yesterday afternoon, so since Jesus has been on shift all weekend and my big buddy here has been off from work, he came over at 5pm yesterday and hasn’t properly left yet.

He briefly absconded this morning to get a shower and a change of clothes before coming back and doing something very, very unnatural to my house. He cooked breakfast. My pristine kitchen was covered in food in the first time…ever! I’ll give him his due, it was very, very good. Corned beef hash, poached eggs and corn bread, all made fresh.

I loved every last mouthful and highly amused him afterwards by burning candles and oils all over the house, flinging every window open to get rid of the smell, too. He told me I was 'as bad as your boyfriend' as he worded it, to which I informed him that Eric absolutely is not my boyfriend.

As usual, he made a disbelieving snorting noise and muttered something about me loving the dangerous side of life too much, which I pretended not to have heard. We've got our little routine down when it comes to any discussion about Eric.

“Right, its flop out on the couch with a movie time. Let's be lazy.” I announce once my PC has flickered off and we've stood up, heading back out into the lounge to sit and watch the classic we're both big fans of; Mommy Dearest. We both live for roaring ‘no wire hangers ever!’ along with Faye Dunaway during her epic meltdown.

We've had a great weekend so far. My stomach still hurts from how much he's made me laugh, especially when he was outside having a joint and just decided to wade out into the lake after stripping to his underwear, singing Motown songs at the top of his lungs while floating on his back for a while.

He's amusing when he's drunk, much more of an action drunk than I am. I just tend to sit and observe others for my own amusement, like I did sitting on my porch enjoying the warm spring evening, watching Lafayette getting caught up in a patch of reeds at the side of the lake and disturbing the tranquillity by splashing around in an attempt to free himself, while trying not to drop the joint he was still smoking.

“Oh, I love the way my fabulous ass is in trouble in the water and all the ice princess here do is sit and give herself a damn pedicure. Hmph!” He fumed when he got out and sat down next to me, dripping water everywhere and threatening to ruin my newly painted toenails.

“That lake is three feet deep at this end, the only trouble you were in was managing to keep your joint dry,” I replied, making him pull a face that quickly turned into a smile. He's a great guy to be around, just funny enough without going overboard, a likeable character.

“You know, I sometimes think you as crazy as some of these guys, considering what yo' take to bed with you,” he suddenly says, giving me a sideways glace to check for a reaction much later in the evening while watching our second choice, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

“Lafayette, leave it alone,” I reply, kicking him softly in the leg as I reach for my wine.

“Leave what alone? The fact you bangin' on the guy the word evil was created for?” he replies with a snort, kicking me back.

“I'll have you know the last time I shared a bed with him all he touched was my stomach, when he put his arm around me,” I reply simply, my friend replying in a disbelieving grunt and splutter. “It's true, he's not getting anything until he can prove he can stop being an asshole.” I add, watching him look even more disbelieving.

“So, just how many thousands of years was you planning to wait, huh?” He then asks, shaking his head.

“I believe he can do it. He treats supernatural creatures a lot differently to humans, he's a lot more tolerant of them. He told me he wants to prove himself to me as well, so I’m giving him the chance.

“The pleasant side to him is great, he's just...hard still, but something softens in him a little. He's very attentive, not so much romantic, but very attentive. He's quiet, too, subtle with his humour as well and I like that. He only speaks if he has something totally relevant to say to the moment. Also, Poon likes him...and I like him, Lafayette, so please stop treating my involvement with him as some big joke,” I explain, giving him a sincere smile in hope he will stop ribbing me about it.

“Okay, peachy. Consider my mouth shut. I's just looking out for you is all,” he states looking back at the screen but reaching out and rubbing the top of my foot in an affectionate way, a gesture that makes me smile fondly at him.

After the movie is over, he finally heads off home, going back to clean up before Jesus arrives later this evening, leaving me to do much the same in my own home. I begin by plugging my I-pod into its dock and hooking it up to my speakers, blasting a particular favourite Satyricon album while I clean my kitchen from top to bottom, until all it smells of is alpine fresh cleaning fluid. Much better.

I then give the lounge a quick freshen, lighting my oil burners, quickly perfuming the air with the delicate fragrance of vanilla musk, lighting a few other candles before I sit down to read, contently crunching through a bag on peanut M&M’s while I read. Perhaps it was good foresight that I tidied up when at just gone sundown, there’s a knock at the door.

“Hello, unexpected Eric,” I say as I open the door to him, registering a slightly unnerved look on his face.

“Unexpected Eric and Pam, she's just supervising the cab driver remove her casket from the roof rack. We need to stay with you for a while, I'll explain all as soon as we get indoors. You look lovely, by the way,” he says flatly and efficiently, almost making me laugh with the little compliment towards the end as he kisses my cheek and sweeps in, arranging himself languidly on the couch while I hold the door open wide for the oncoming structure that is Pam's pink casket.

“I wasn't too sure on the light proof situation in your home, so I thought it'd be better if I bring this. Besides, I'd like a muffler between my ears and the sounds of you two fucking for hours on end,” she says as soon as she's paid the driver and shut the door, two suitcases brought in too.

“If only,” Eric laments from the couch, raising his eyebrows at me before winking.

“It’ll be more than worth the wait, once I literally let you back in. You know this,” I tease, sitting down and running my hand up his thigh while Pam busies herself with unpacking her case.

“I do, which is what’s driving me crazy, you utter temptress. By the way, did I say how beautiful you look? Because you do,” he replies, stroking my cheek with his thumb, the other arm wrapping around me to pull me closer.

“Switch your ears off, Tyra. He's just buttering you up because he's fucked up big time. No matter how relevant I think the cause was, just to add, Eric,” Pam suddenly pipes up. “Can I hang these in your wardrobe, by the way, doll?” She then requests, holding some shirts on their pink velvet hangers.

“Sure, go right ahead,” I say, gesturing towards my bedroom. “So, this is why you’re being all complimentary and affectionate?” I then ask Eric, turning to look at him.

“No. I’m being complimentary and affectionate because I missed you,” he begins, hand stroking the curve of my waist, Pam re-entering the room and taking a seat in the armchair. “As for your assertion that I fucked up, I didn’t, Pam. I did exactly what I intended to do. It's just put us in a slightly vulnerable position until I can plot my next move.”

I think perhaps he’s not being one hundred percent truthful there and is hoping to soften me to whatever I assume he’s about to reveal. I’m not naive.

“I have a lot to fill you in on, so listen carefully.” He states, before beginning to detail every in and out of all this business, as he frequently referred to it was, that has been going on between here and Jackson. I learn about the V dealing, Pam being taken hostage, everything about the king of Mississippi and the queen of Louisiana and their involvement in it, even Bill Compton and Sookie Stackhouse feature briefly, too.

The main current of the story is the fact Eric discovered who was behind the murder of his family, that vampire being Russell Edgington, the aforementioned king of Mississippi. As for Eric's revenge...

“When the opportunity presented itself to me, I seduced his husband and just before he anticipated we were about to have sex, staked him instead. Russell Edgington took my family, so I took his. Fitting, I thought,” he finishes simply, while I nod.

I have to be honest and say it sounds perfectly reasonable to me, really. To have carried the kind of hurt Eric has for over a thousand years, I can’t say I blame him at all for the course of action he took. “Needless to say, if he discovers that I do have one last family tie of sorts of my own, he will use it against me, which is why we have to destroy all evidence of it.

“We must burn it all; the scroll, Godric's letters, everything. We cannot be sentimental about them, it's too dangerous. Especially since Godric confided that Russell Edgington in particular must never find out what you are. If nothing of that nature exists, then there's nothing solid to tie me to you, you're just the bookkeeper for appearances sake.

“That is how everything must remain to anyone but the three of us, perhaps a select few others. Russell Edgington will now try to find an Achilles heel, which is anything or anyone close to me,” he explains.

“Understood.” Getting up, I head to my shelves where I stashed the scroll and letter within the large wooden box where I stash my many differently scented incense sticks within, pulling them out along with a lighter before heading outside.

Picking up the little cauldron flower pot that housed some flowers which didn’t come up this year and I never got around to replacing, I shake the soil out, distributing over the other flower pots before sitting down with it. Being metal, it’s the perfect vessel to use as a fire receptacle.

Taking one last look at the letter, I place it into the cauldron, reluctantly tearing the scroll in half, feeling awful that I’m destroying so much meticulous detailing of my past. It has to be done, though.

“Here, this should help,” Eric says, sitting down behind me and unscrewing the bottle of nail polish remover I’d left on the table after painting my toenails the other night, pouring it in over the letter and scroll before I use the envelope to light and drop into the cauldron, the flames rising instantly. “It is a pity it had to be destroyed, such meticulous work gathered by Godric for all those centuries. However, we must be practical.”

“I completely agree. For the record, I think you did the right thing. If I could find the asshole who killed my mom, I'd cut them from ear to ear,” I confide, feeling him rest his chin on my shoulder, turning slightly to see him watching the fire, the flickering flames that I add to with more pieces of the other half of the scroll, Eric eventually reaching to add his own letters to the fire as well.

It is sad, destroying something Godric made for us, what he went to such lengths to keep safe. At the same time, I know he'd understand why we have to do this. We're doing as he instructed, looking after each other.

Once the scroll and letters have all burned away to black ash, he picks up the cauldron and takes it over to the side of the lake, dropping it down into the water and making smoke rise and the scorching hot metal hiss as it cools, washing the ashes away. Ashes in the water, ashes in the sea.

“There, gone,” he says as he walks back and puts the cauldron down, going back to the lake edge a little further down and washing the black ash trails from his hands, hands that are perfect and also unburned again, healing immediately after he'd put the hot cauldron down. Hands that reach for mine and pull me up to my feet before enveloping me in a hug.

“So, honestly. Am I in danger? Also, how much danger are you in, exactly?” I ask, resting my head against his chest.

“There's nothing now that links you to me more than say, Ginger or any other human who works at the bar. No one but Pam and I suspect you're anything more than human. As for how much danger I'm in, I just have to disappear for a while. Right here with you is hidden well enough.

“He won’t expect me to involve humans, if anything he'll think I've gone to Dallas for back up. This is how I’ve made it appear, at least, since I had a computer hacker I know lay a fake credit card trail there, including two flights and hotel reservations. If he follows the fake trail, at least it'll throw him in the wrong direction for a while,” he tells me. I love how conniving he is, always a step ahead in his game.

I hope he remains in this situation with Russell Edgington, the bastard who slaughtered my ancestors, but thankfully spared the one I'm in the arms of now, being steered gently back in the direction of the house. Once there, we resume our position on the couch, Eric pulling me onto his lap.

“Getting your energy fix?” I ask.

“Something like that,” he confirms, just sitting here silent and still, while I rest my head against his hard shoulder.

“Do you mind if I go take a bath? I didn't get time before he ushered me out earlier.” Pam asks, while I nod before getting up again and showing her through to the bathroom, grabbing some spare towels from the linen cupboard.

We also take the chance to move her casket into my little office, which has enough room to fit it easily, me moving one of the tables back against the wall and clearing it of its clutter so she can set out her makeup and jewellery. Once she's taken care of, I assume my position on the couch, or rather on Eric, to enjoy nothing but a long, comfortable silence.


	19. Chapter 19

**Tyra’s POV.**

“Erm, excuse me. You’re invading my shower time. Out,” I demand when Eric attempts to get in with me, about five minutes after I excused myself to have a little alone time.

“I don’t like the thought of you being in here naked, without me being here too,” he replies, his arms sliding around my waist, fingertips stroking my stomach as he begins to kiss my neck.

“And I told you no, so stop,” I attempt at being firm, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, but failing.

“I really don’t want to, not now I know how amazing it feels to be inside you. You should let me back in, sooner rather than later,” he replies, his hands slowly trailing up to my breasts, stroking them until my nipples harden. 

No matter how turned on I am right now, or how big the erection he’s pressing into my back may be, I shall remain absolute in my decision. Eric is absolutely not having me in the shower. Moving his hands, I rinse the conditioner from my hair and slide past him to exit, wrapping myself in towels, smirking a little at his obvious frustration. 

Leaving him in peace, I head to my bedroom to dry and dress, reflecting upon all I’ve learned this evening, now fully understanding the ruthlessness of vampire politics and the need for secrecy. I also firmly agree with Eric’s slaying of Talbot, Russell Edgington has had that coming to him for over a thousand years. 

It’s that cut and dry to me, I really see no other way around it other than the outcome Eric chose. He’s a Viking, for god’s sake. They’re brutal, vengeful and this one just happened to hold a grudge so deep he waited over a millennia to seek out that revenge. Yes, Russell had it coming to him. 

I fully understand that could put me in danger because of what I am, Eric’s last living descendant, but now there’s absolutely no proof of it, no one can ever establish that link. I know I’m safe, glad that for as long as Eric and Pam are hiding out here, they will be as well. 

He comes into the bedroom as I’m blow drying my hair, taking off the towel around his waist and then pulling a pair of black pyjama bottoms from the case he brought in earlier, putting them on and lying down on the bed, a place I join him once my hair is dry and I’ve ran a brush through it.

“Have you calmed down now?” I ask him, lying on my front with my arms folded in front of me. He doesn’t answer at first, but instead looks down and then reaches out to zip up the tight little hooded top I’m wearing, concealing my cleavage.

“That’s better,” he affirms arching an eyebrow at me and then reaching up to wipe his nose, catching a trail of blood.

“You didn’t rest much today,” I observe, watching him nod.

‘I didn’t sleep at all. I kept guard so Pam could rest safely, just in case. We then left the bar the minute the sun went down, so I think I could do with going to bed when you do to be honest,” he tells me.

“Well, there’s a documentary about Mussolini on TV in ten minutes, so I want to go and watch that before I turn in. You stay here if you want,” I offer.

“I usually cannot abide television, but it does sound interesting. Documentaries offer more merit than the rest of the crap churned out to pacify the easily entertained.” We head back out, Eric lasting all of half an hour before he begins bleeding from his ears, heading back to bed and leaving Pam and I to continue watching.

Once it’s over I’m still not tired, so stay up for a while talking to her while she hand sews a dress she’s making right now. She makes a lot of her own clothes, taking the trouble to hand stitch something rather than use a machine at times, her 'old fashioned’ side as she calls it. At 1am I decide to turn in, but I plan to read in bed for a little while first, since having the lamp on wont wake Eric I might as well take advantage of it.

I also add the clear top coat to my long, burgundy red nails that I didn’t get around to finishing earlier, letting it dry while I lie back and read, absorbing more about the tumultuous life of Elizabeth Bathory, the subject of my current book. After about ten minutes of reading quietly and blowing my nails to help them dry to a glossy finish, I find that there is something that can wake a sleeping vampire.

“What on earth is that noxious smell?” I hear Eric grumble, lifting his head from the pillow and frowning at me.

“It’s my nail varnish. Sorry, I figured you wouldn’t smell it since you were sleeping,” I say, feeling a little bad. He’s exhausted, he needs some uninterrupted rest.

“Some strong scents will rouse our senses and wake us, that one is now included on the list of fumes that wake me,” he replies informatively.

“Then I shall remember not to paint my nails while you’re around in the future,” I state, going back to my book and assuming he’ll fall back to sleep now he’s had his gripe. He doesn’t, though. Instead he makes an observance that shocks me dumb for a few moments.

“Ahh, you’re reading about Elizabeth. Perhaps the only human I ever had a genuine fondness for,” he reveals casually, inspecting the cover as he turns onto his side, propping his elbow against the pillows and resting his head on his hand.

“You knew her?” I ask in disbelief.

“Very well. I met her in 1604 had a casual sexual relationship with her for about two years, until I moved on from Hungary on to Czechoslovakia, as it was still called back then. And yes, before you ask, she was every inch as brutal as books depict her to be. 

“She enjoyed watching me fuck her servants and then drain them dry, or bite them and drain them into a bath for her, since I’m sure you’ve read already she liked to bathe in the blood of young women. She had the most intense blood lust for a human that I’ve ever encountered, and I enjoyed my time with her greatly,” he replies, while I feel my eyebrows disappearing into my hairline in surprise.

“That’s incredible,” I state, lost for any further words. Wow. I expected him to have had a rich and varied life as a vampire, but now only knowing but having sex with who is likely the world’s first female serial killer, well that’s really something.

“Pity she tried to sell me out when she was tried for her crimes, saying she’d been under the influence of a vampire, one of the devil’s creatures. But of course, everyone assumed she was mad, I was four years gone by then anyway, so a bricked up room was what awaited her after her trial and where she died eventually. Sorry, have I just spoiled the rest of the book for you?” he explains.

“A little, just don’t say too much more about that, though. However, you can tell me what she was like, from knowing her personally,” I request, putting the marker back into my book and placing it down on the nightstand and turn to listen to him talk about the subject of my book instead.

“She was insane, to put it bluntly, but also extremely intelligent too as is often the way. She spoke three languages, Hungarian, Latin and German. I used to communicate to her in Latin. She had little social conscience, little conscience at all, in fact. She was very similar to a vampire in her nature. It’s why I enjoyed her company for a time,” he replies. 

I never imagined he’d know well known people from times gone by, but it isn’t beyond the realms of imagination, especially not with the likes of Elizabeth Bathory either. She must have really enjoyed having a lover like Eric. I like the way he speaks of his past, so concisely but yet eluding enough detail to answer a question fairly thoroughly. 

We talk a little more before my eyelids grow heavy, switching off the light and curling up with Eric’s bulk wrapped around me, falling asleep in an instant. When I awake again, it’s to a very pleasant feeling of my bare back being kissed.

“I strongly advise you just to give in,” my bed guest whispers, mouth moving to the back of my neck and kissing me there, his hands sliding underneath me and rubbing my breasts. Oh, the tingles. I lie here and feel myself being towed into a glimmering abyss of pleasure, the type only Eric can conjure. To give in, or not to give in?

The sensation of his lips trailing down my spine make me shudder so hard that I almost forget why I’m denying him in the first place. Can I honestly be so resolute? Should I be? Deep down, I know something has changed within him, so with this in mind, why deny myself something I enjoy as much as I do? 

“If I do, you better make it worth my while,” I bargain eventually, figuring I really don’t want to deny myself anything as good as him.

“You know that will be guaranteed. Now, stay exactly where you are.” Moving to kneel astride my body, he begins to run his hands up and down my back, kissing me from one shoulder blade to the other. His mouth moves to my spine, teamed with tongue swirls and flickers, goosepimples rising in response. 

His hands lower to knead my ass cheeks, my arousal burning strongly when I feel his mouth meet my lower back. He lifts my hips off the bed, pushing my legs apart, his mouth delighting the back of my thighs with attention before…oh god. I missed that mouth. 

Closing my eyes, I sigh breathlessly as his tongue circles my opening, fingertips gliding over my labia and seeking out my clit. Fuck, he’s too good. Some men need guidance, to be told exactly what motion to use, how much pressure, but Eric? I’ve never needed to reveal such. He just knows. That’s how well a vampire can read responses. 

“Oh, fuck!” I grit, my legs shaking as his fingers speed up, tongue moving to my ass and circling that sensitive flesh, his fingers sliding into my wetness and curling over, massaging me thoroughly. 

Gripping the pillow, I pant without reserve, hardly able to believe he’s wound the coil within me so tightly already, crying out as he makes me cum hard. “How are you even real? Not even I can make myself cum that fast!” I exclaim, Eric laughing softly. 

“I’ve had plenty of practice.” he confirms, moving rapidly to lie beneath me. His mouth reconnects, lips wrapping around my swollen clit and sucking, his fingers pushing inside me. My slick heat grips them in a series of flutters, a long moan escaping my mouth as his tongue begins to slowly circle. 

This was definitely worth breaking my pledge for, the fingers in my cunt easing out to slowly push into my ass as his tongue glides across my clit with ardent licks. Fuck, he’s so good. I actually feel light headed, like that rush you get after holding your breath for a long time, when for a few seconds you’re not sure if you’re going to pass out or not.

“Oh, Eric, I’m going to…ahhh!” I wail, my legs shaking tumultuously as I crest for him again, squeaking when he spanks me hard with his free hand. 

“You will many, many more times, too.” He assures me, spanking me again a few more times as his tongue alternates between rolling languidly and speedily over my clit, pausing for a moment to bite my inner thigh with a deeply aroused rumble, feeding from me while pushing three fingers into my aching pussy. 

He works them in time with the ones in my ass, briefly pausing to seal my wound before sending me to erotic heaven with his fingers, mouth occupying itself with my nipples after he slides back up the bed slightly. Before I can register it, he’s moved rapidly, cock splitting my heat, hands stroking me all over as he leans forward and groans gutturally in my ear. 

“Being inside you is absolute fucking divinity.” He pants, moving my hair to begin kissing my neck as we move in perfect sexual sync with one another. I’d use the same word to describe the sex we share, too. There is nothing more fervently delicious than Eric inside me, stretching me, filling me deeply and pressing nerve endings so deep within.

I purr with incandescence when I feel him slide two fingers back into my ass again, working my tight hole slowly while his cock pounds me fast. He then withdraws himself completely before slowly pushing for entrance against the tight, puckered muscle his fingers just occupied, until the head of his erection slips in, the rest of him sliding it to the accompaniment of a moan so deep from me I’m surprised it came from my mouth.

“Eric, top nightstand draw. Lube.” I grit, Eric moving quickly to remove the bottle and douse his cock in a generous, glistening coating, facilitating an easier entrance into my tight passage. 

My nails drag across the sheets as sharp shocks of pleasure rocket through my body, instigated by just one move into me, everything times more intense when he retreats again. If that wasn’t hedonistic enough, I then feel his hand reach between us to stroke at my moistened folds, seeking out my clit and circling it slowly. 

He groans wantonly, each thrust of his cock going deeper, hurting but at the same time literally opening me up to a whole different world of pleasure. I’ve never attempted to take something the size of him anally before; it feels so good, I’ll give him about a fucking week to stop. 

My whole body is covered in goosebumps, my skin feeling sumptuously sensitive under the decadent caress of his free hand, that decadence then replaced by the barbarous need for roughness, spanking me again before he leans over and bites my shoulder. 

He doesn’t feed, the practice (so I’ve heard) known as dry biting, usually when a vampire has previously fed, is highly aroused and cannot help themselves. I’d say Eric fits that description perfectly right now. I’m bitten a further two times, the pain mingling with the pleasure, my arousal raging like a storm, his fingers ceasing their rubbing at my clit and instead, pushing into my gaping wetness, using them to fuck my cunt rhythmically. 

He’s so criminally talented, my throat feels dry and sore from so much gasping, panting and moaning, my nipples are overly sensitive from how hard they are and my body is shaking climatically as another orgasm comes ripping up through me. Fuck, I can’t cope with how amazing this is! I didn’t ever think sex could be too good. 

He keeps going, until I’m pouring with sweat, until my body has been brought to shuddering climax another three times, before he retreats and picks me up, transporting me back into the bathroom and straight into the shower again. 

“That lube doesn’t smell, or feel, the best,” he says in way of explanation, while I quickly duck out to tie up my hair. I’m not drying it twice, it’s too much of an arduous task.

“Yeah, it might be past its use by. I’ll get another bottle, so I’m all ready for the next time you wish to anally invade me.” I reply, Eric leaning down and kissing me. Once we’re clean, he makes no move to exit, picking me up and dropping me down onto his rigid cock as I wrap myself around him, his fangs at my neck. 

He groans a low, long rumble, my nails dragging through his wet hair as he stares at me intensely, bouncing me on his hardness as I rock my hips against him strongly, writhing against him, absolutely lost in the unbridled passion flowing between us. 

Before I know it, the shower is turned off and we’re back in the bedroom, my back hitting the bed without the tangency being lost between us, Eric holding my legs high and wide, fucking me in total wild abandon. 

Looking down, he intently watches me enjoying every last inch of his beautiful, hard cock, my hips pounding against his body as they rise up off the bed to meet each of his thrusts, before he starts moving at a pace I cannot keep up with. 

He begins fucking me so hard I’m surprised my bed doesn’t give way…surprised I don’t give way, in fact. For a further four hours it’s much the same, my body being twisted and turned into more positions than I knew existed, subjected to more orgasms than I ever thought I could withstand, until I’m so sore all over, outside and in, that I’m surprised I can actually keep going. 

“It hurts so much, but it feels too good to stop,” I pant, while slowly grinding up and down on his cock, my arms and legs wrapped around him.

“There’s one way to combat that sufficiently. Here,” he suggests, bringing one arm from around me and biting into his wrist, offering me the fresh wound to suck upon which I duly do. 

I drink the few mouthfuls necessary for my soreness to start to heal, becoming like new again after a few minutes, kissing him fervidly as both of his arms tighten around me again, clasping me to him, his short nails clawing at my back as he groans deeply into my mouth. 

Rolling around the bed and working on nothing but the pure lust and sexual frenzy between us, we’re occupied until, both exhausted and drowsy. I need to sleep for many, many hours.

“Finally, I manage to tire you out,” he comments, lying behind me with his hands roaming all over my warm nakedness.

“I bet you could still keep going for another few hours, though,” I comment, running my hand up and down his forearm.

“Considering I’m still only running on five hours sleep in the last forty or so, I probably couldn’t. Right now, I think I need to rest as much as you do.” He replies, kissing my neck and resting his head down on the pillow behind me, his words being the last thing said between us before we both promptly fall asleep. 

It’s one of those very deep sleeps, one that lasts until 5:47pm exactly, when I wake up to feel his fingers running up and down the centre of my stomach, between my breasts and back again. Immediately I turn over and kiss his chest as I wake up properly, rubbing my eyes and then opening them and looking up at him, just looking down at me with a slight smile before leaning in to kiss me softly.

“Good evening,” he says between kisses, fingertips stroking my cheek while his other hand rubs my back softly.

“Evening,” I reply with a smile, before being kissed again. I’m starting to like when he’s affectionate, like he’s being now, just holding me against him and stroking my skin as we kiss. 

This is just enough for me too, not being a particularly overly affectionate person myself, so the level he’s managing at present is comfortable. Sadly, I can’t enjoy it for long before an aching full bladder drives me out bed. Once done, I satisfy my next need, that being my growling stomach. Two slices of toast, two bananas and a freshly cleaned set of teeth later and I’m back in the arms I was enjoying being held in.

“How long do you think you’ll be staying here for?” I ask, my finger tracing the outline of his pecs.

“Why, fed up of me already?” He jokes, making me laugh. “Another day, I should think. I have a couple of ideas about what move to make next, ideas I will reveal to both you and Pam in due course,” he then adds, hands stroking my back once more. 

As it turns out, that idea is turned on its head when he receives a phone call about an hour after we’ve got up, from a vampire by the name of Nan Flanagan, the spokeswoman for the AVL and also someone Eric has to answer to for his actions it would seem, being higher in the vampire hierarchy than he is.

“We have to return to Fangtasia, Nan wants to speak with me over the incident with Talbot, I guess,” he tells Pam as soon as the phone call is over, calling a cab before immediately leaving the room to collect the case he brought with him. He then gently steers me in the direction of the kitchen. 

“As soon as my meeting with Nan is over, I shall call you. Could you come to the bar so we may speak of what was discussed? I don’t like to think I’m encroaching on too much of your time, but it’s important you’re kept in the know,” he asks, staring down intently at me.

“That’s fine. If you want me to, I can stay and bring my laptop with me to do some work, or I’ll just come back here. Up to you,” I reply casually, leaving the decision to him since I don’t mind either way.

“Stay then. I know I said two days a week would be enough, but…I may have had second thoughts on that decision.” He then tells me, running his fingers through my hair and leaning down to kiss me, a kiss that I know goes on for some time, yet feels like only moments have passed before I can hear Pam clearing her throat.

“Eric, the cab’s here,” she says as we part, him nodding and leaving the kitchen. “See you later on, darlin.” She adds with a wink.

“Later, Pam.” Watching them take their possessions and leave, the house feels oddly quiet without them here. After half an hour, I begin to feel odd that Eric isn’t here in particular, very glad that he’s invited me to stay over tonight. 

I don’t know, but perhaps whatever I am, his blood has the same effect on me as mine does on him. After drinking his last night, I definitely feel inexplicably closer and more drawn to him. The difference is, while he’s not fully sure if he likes it or not; I definitely know I do.


	20. Chapter 20

**Eric’s POV.**

“So, what did she say when she called you?” Pam asks as the cab speeds through the darkness.

“To basically get my ass back to Fangtasia, pronto. I guess we’ll just have to wait as to what she’s going to do when I get there,” I reply, looking out of the window blankly. 

When we do arrive at the bar, we find out immediately the exact nature of her visit, heading in through the back entrance and walking out into the main part of the bar to see her waiting for me.

“I’m sorry Miss Flanagan, the bar is closed,” I tell her sarcastically upon my entrance, which is the truth. We don’t open for another fifteen minutes.

“Thank you, but I already ate. True blood only, of course. You can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you? The VRA is two states away from ratification, I should be kissing asses in Oregon, not cleaning up after you in fucking Louisiana!” she grits with indignance, surrounded by an AVL swat team as she walks closer towards me.

“Oh, I promise. There is nothing amiss in my area,” I begin, before she interrupts.

“Shut up, you’re making my head hurt. Officers, silver him,” she then orders the assembled goons. I wait as I hear footsteps behind me, then the sudden and scorching hot pain of silver burns into my shoulder as I drop to the ground in agony.

What transpires after this is me learning that Miss Flanagan visited here tonight to investigate me over the disappearance of the magister, having every inch of my property inspected before coming back up into the bar to tell me that even though she found nothing, her suspicions still remain. I’m then made to give a statement to the authority via a webcam link. Except what I reveal to them is not exactly what I think they were expecting. 

I tell them everything, or rather everything they need to know, about trailing Edgington for so many centuries, about his werewolves, the bloodthirsty V addicts who have historically remained loyal to him. I also reveal how he has an extremely visceral reaction to people standing in his way, using the magister and queen Sophie Anne as examples. 

I then inform them of exactly what Edgington and his wolves did to my family, stating that the reason I did not report him for his crimes before was that I wanted him to die via my own hand. That statement is as much as I can say in my defence, before Pam and I are put on lockdown, instructed to keep the bar closed and of course, not allowed to step foot out of here until word is given. 

After she exits, leaving four of her guards behind to make sure neither Pam nor I try to leave, I quickly send a text message to Tyra, explaining that I will talk to her as soon as possible and that she should stay home tonight. I’m not even sure the guards would let her in for a start and secondly, as I told her and Pam last night, for appearances she’s just another member of staff, just the bookkeeper, not someone whom is linked to or involved with me for any other reason. 

I’m sure exactly what she is to me, other than the obvious with her being my last living descendant. I must protect her for that reason alone before any other, it is my duty to. I want to keep Tyra as far away from all this as I can, because if Edgington even so much as suspects she’s linked to me in any way, she’s dead. 

I kept that bluntness from her yesterday, but it is the honest truth. He’d slay her in return for my staking of his lover and progeny, so she needs to be held at more than arm’s length right now, with the AVL investigating me so closely.

As it turns out, the wait until I can resume life as normal is just twenty-four hours, Nan Flanagan arriving back at the bar at 8pm the following evening, informing me that basically I have the go ahead to rid the world of Russell Edgington, to do it quietly and off the books with only my own resources, since last night my actions - it would seem - made him have somewhat of a meltdown and execute a newscaster live on air.

He stirred an already volatile pot by proclaiming to the whole of America his to be the true face of vampirism, admonishing the AVL as liars for preaching anything to the contrary. It’s something that my mind immediately begins to turn over while I go about two necessary tasks, feeding and then asking Tyra if she can reschedule her visit to tonight. 

I am still adamant that I will not feed from her until I fully know and understand what she is. To form a blood bond with another supernatural creature for vampires is, for the most part, for the rest of their existence. Of course, this is what I suspect is happening between us. I always feel exponentially closer to her after I’ve fed. 

Pursuing anything of that nature further is something that will take careful consideration, regardless of our already existing blood link through ancestry, regardless of any other facet of her that I might find appealing, in fact. 

I just do not know if this is something that I’m capable of, regardless of the biggest thing of all. The fact that each time I’m close to her, each time I’ve engaged in intercourse with her, I’ve felt myself pulled further and further in, regardless of what is prompted from feeding. Furthermore, I do not like it when she isn’t around. Not one bit. I must confess, she’s beginning to become significant to me. Very much so. 

I’m shaken from my thoughts by a reply message from her, telling me she wants to finish some more work and will be here at some time around midnight, if she does come at all. This is something else I like about her, she’s independent of me completely. I cannot click my fingers and watch her instantly come running to me. She refuses me, she does things in her own time, she tells me no, she stands up to and challenges me as well. 

I’ve never met anyone like her, even the most brutal female woman I ever met, Elizabeth Bathory, whom I was only discussing with Tyra the other night, had a touch of neediness to her. She’d obey my every command, do anything I wanted her to do. Tyra shows me one thing that not many women ever have; restraint. She also has a very steely self-composure. 

I cannot manipulate her and as a result of that, I find myself less inclined to do so. As I said to Pam a long time ago, I have respect for her because of this above all. To me, she is the very essence of what a woman should be. Strong, beautiful, clever and still elusive to me in a way as well. 

It’s also the fact that at first, she wasn’t interested in me in the slightest. Women who openly pursue vampires have an air of desperation about them that just doesn’t exist with Tyra at all. I enjoyed the challenge of being the one to pursue her, very much so. 

Since we decided business should resume as normal, the bar is open and in usual full swing for a Saturday night when Tyra arrives. Sitting in my usual place I can feel her closeness, watching the door until I finally see her walk through it, heading over to the bar first and having Deborah make a beeline for her immediately.

The women talk briefly for a few moments, Tyra receiving a glass of red wine (complimentary, of course, as are all employee drinks as long as the privilege isn’t abused) before she continues through the bar, indicating to me she’ll be a minute before entering the office. When she returns, she’s without her bag and jacket, arriving before me looking as luminous as usual. 

“You haven’t rested, have you?” These are her first words to me, over the pounding of the music currently playing, some brand of newer metal my ears are not accustomed to, nor particularly fond of.

“Your observation is correct, but I am in no mood to be berated over it,” I reply tetchily, her perplexed face alerting me to the fact that my tiredness wasn’t anything other than a simple observation, rather than hen pecking. 

“I wasn’t about to, but if you’re not in the mood to see me, I can always head home? Choice is yours, you cantankerous bastard.” She retorts, scowling a little that her gentle concern was rebuffed so bluntly. I can’t help but smile suddenly, laughing quietly through my nose.

“I’m sorry,” I offer sincerely, Tyra raising an eyebrow at me as she continues to sip her Cabernet. 

“I should fucking well hope so, too!” 

“Will you promise me one thing?” I then request, entertained by her response.

“Depends on what you’re asking for,” she replies quickly.

“Never change.” She eyes me over the top of her wine glass, taking another slow sip, catching a droplet with her tongue from the corner of her mouth as she lowers the glass. Fuck, just that got me hard. 

“Not for you, and not for anyone else either, for that matter.” She informs me, holding my gaze before turning to walk back through the bar over and to the exit, no doubt to see Pam, leaving me laughing behind my hand. 

“Please, don’t become like the rest. You’re the most fascinating creature I’ve met in a thousand years.” I mutter to myself as I watch her walk away, feeling myself grow furtherly aroused by that beautiful feline glide she has, the way she swings her hips when she walks. 

She’s ensuring that with every step she takes, she’s not going to be spending a lot of time out there talking to Pam, that’s for sure. Not with how devastating she looks this evening.

**Tyra’s POV.**

After enjoying a catch-up chat with Pam, I head back inside and set my empty glass down on the bar, noticing Eric is absent from the seat I left him in, heading into the office to collect my things and then venturing down another floor, where the door is open for me when I arrive at the entrance to Eric’s apartment. 

I find him reclining on the couch, dropping my bag down to the side of the bed before sauntering over to him and watching his eyes open slowly, blue grey orbs framed by golden lashes, enticing and beautiful.

“So, what did Nan Flanagan have to say then? Was it regarding Talbot’s death?” I ask as he pulls me down onto his lap, stroking my arms.

“No, not at all, in fact. She visited to question me over the magister and his disappearance,” he replies, before telling me how the bar was searched looking for evidence, how he had to give a statement and went on to inform Nan and the AVL authorities of what Russell had been up to, what he had done a thousand years earlier to his (and my very, very distant) family.

“I also have the go ahead to slaughter him, but without any backing or help from the AVL. They just want him dealt with and out of the picture, so they can do sufficient damage control with a no doubt glossy PR campaign while continuing to push the vampire rights bill for ratification. 

“I can see how Russell Edgington would be extremely bad for that PR at the moment, especially if he plans on tearing out any further spines from public figures at any point soon,” he explains, his hands wandering to stroke my thighs. 

“Do you know how you’re going to kill him yet? Did they give you a deadline for you to hand in his fangs, as it were?” I inquire, after absorbing the information he’s given

“I’d rather not discuss it right at this moment, if you wouldn’t mind. Right now, I’d rather you take my mind off it for a time. Besides, you look as if you could do with the same thing, too. You have a tiny frown line right here; you always get it when you’re pissed off. What is it?” He replies and asks, which I must say is very attentive of him. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Well, I hope it’s nothing. A vampire named Langdon Vernon, the Hot Topic goth guy who owns the equally Hot Topic-esque alternative clothes store about a half mile away from here sent me an email in the early hours of this morning. He’s basically threatening to sue me because I noticed a pattern of discrepancies which will mean he has to declare more earnings to the IRS,” I explain, Eric nodding as he frowns. 

“Bleached white, wavy hair and wears more makeup than Elvira?” he questions, my nod confirming that he indeed is the person I’m thinking of. “He’s a fucking troublemaker with ideas above his station. In my capacity of Sherrif, I’ve had to deal with him a couple of times now. He seems to think owning a sizable alternative clothing store makes him some kind of bigshot. He’s just trying to intimidate you.”

“I know, legally he has no leg to stand on unless he cooks up some untruths about me fiddling with his accounts, which I doubt he’d be stupid enough to do. Anyway, shall we take our minds off this by partaking in something a little more pleasurable?” I suggest, being met with a hungry kiss by my vampire lover. 

His hands grasp my breasts through the thin silk of the top I’m wearing, spaghetti straps being teased off my shoulders by his inquisitive fingertips, while I lift my arms to facilitate the removal of all that covers my chest. 

He arches an approving eyebrow at the fact I’ve forgone wearing a bra, my top slipping from his hand as he leans forward, bracketing my waist as he circles my nipples with his tongue. He lavishes my bare breasts with kisses, fangs prickling them slightly too, adding to the gentle hum of pleasure that starts to run through me from his touch.

“Don’t get too comfortable with those in your mouth.” I purr seductively, wriggling free from his grasp and sliding down until my knees hit the floor, my hands undoing the front of his tight, black jeans. I keep eye contact with him and bite his inner thigh hard, making him close his eyes and groan a little, those beautiful, steel blue eyes snapping back open again when I’ve freed his rock-hard dick. 

He watches intently as I take him in my mouth, easing my lips down his shaft slowly, my tongue swirling around the big, thick head that feels so criminally good upon entry; in whatever hole of my body it happens to be sliding into. Right now, it feels very, very nice while gliding in and out of my mouth.

All the veins begin to flood, engorged and swollen with blood, his gorgeous, primal growl filling the air as once again my tongue circles slowly, then quickly over the very tip of his hardness. While I do this, I reach down and unfasten my pants, sliding my hand in and moaning when I touch my silky wetness. I always get so aroused while sucking his cock. It’s the anticipation, imagining it splitting my cunt. 

“Where has your other hand suddenly disappeared to?” he questions, sounding entertained. He knows full well what I’m doing, but I play along all the same, taking my hand back out of my pants and reaching up to slide a finger into his mouth.

“You can have a finger rather than a guess,” I tease, feeling his tongue press against the underside of it as he tastes me, smiling wickedly once I pull my finger from his mouth. I attentively go back to his cock while his hands lose themselves in my hair, plunging my mouth down until every inch of it disappears into my throat.

In my diligence, I spend an absolute age working him to orgasm, rubbing myself to a moaning release a couple of times while I get him there, gratified by the shaking of his body as a jet of cum spills into my throat, Eric grunting deeply, his hands fisting my hair. 

Before I know it, he’s grabbed me tightly around the waist and moved with me, shedding the rest of his clothes after he drops me down on the bed and then rapidly does the same to me.

Pulling my legs open wide as he kneels in front of me, I take a moment his gorgeous rippling physique nicely lit from the slight glow of the candles over in the far corner, shading it in all the muscle creases beautifully. He looks like a work of art.

Taking my leg, he begins stroking it deftly with both hands, planting kisses at the ankle at first before slowly working his way down, making me say a silent prayer of thanks that I had the foresight to actually make sure I’m freshly groomed in the pubic area. I prefer to be hair free. 

When his tongue meets my newly smooth apex, I shudder a soft breath, the languid beat of his tongue against my clit enough to make me want to practically howl in total abandon, how incredible it feels. Like I said before, a thousand years’ experience makes for the kind of man anyone would want. 

They know exactly how to touch you for one thing, they can sense the way your body reacts to it and remember it exactly. You know how no matter how good the man you’re in bed is, there’s something about your own touch that’ll get you off the quickest, because only you really know your own body that way? His touch feels even better, even more precise than that; like he knows things I don’t. 

The feeling of him suddenly sucking on my clit hard has me in bliss, coupled by the invasion on two thick fingers deep in my heat has me at the peak of my undoing, pushing me over into nirvana. Oh, he’s too good by far. 

“Sorry, but there’ll be no elongated oral performances from me tonight, I just want to fuck.” He announces, sitting up, pulling my legs up over his shoulders and plunging his dick into me hard. Any other sound of pleasure I’ve murmured tonight is eclipsed immediately by the loudness of the screams, groans and cries I let out as he fucks me mercilessly, driving me headlong into orgasm, after orgasm, after orgasm. By five in the morning, I’m tired and sore, but very content.

“Something I meant to ask you a while ago, that I noticed to be strange. You breathe when you’re having sex. Why?” I ask him, feeling him stroking my hair as I lie against his chest.

“It isn’t conscious, it’s just my body remembering. Vampires do often start to breathe in moments of exertion. I’ve often thought it to be quite the strange thing too,” he replies.

“I don’t think it’s strange. I like it actually,” I state, my finger beginning to draw a small circle on the centre of his chest.

“Why? Does it remind you of being with a human?” he asks, while I move to look down at him, quite perplexed at his question.

“If I wanted to be with a human that’s what I’d be with, so now I’m getting accustomed to a vampire, don’t rock the boat,” I tell him firmly, watching him frown.

“It was a legitimate question, not an offhand remark,” he replies earnestly, making me feel a little bad. Sometimes, I really can’t tell with him. His snarkiness is often delivered thinly veiled.

‘We’re much too quick to snap at each other, aren’t we?’ I then tell him, after a few moments of contemplative silence, where I noted this is just one of many instances between us.

'Yes, we are. I suppose that’s something we should work on. Now, lie down and be quiet, you battle axe,” he states playfully, putting his arm around my neck and pulling me back down until my head is resting against his chest once more, making me giggle a little. 

“I will not be quiet, because I want you to know one thing for sure. I accept you for whom and what you are, a vampire. I don’t want to change you, nor do I long for you to be any more human in demeanour either. Not in life, or in bed. Just so you know. Us both trying to be better for one another is acceptable though,” I tell him, my finger continuing to draw its circle over his cool skin.

“I know, it’s one of the things that attracts me to you the most. I know you’ll never try to change me into something I’m not,” he notes, before kissing my forehead and untangling himself from me. He’s back in a nanosecond after extinguishing the candles, wrapping me in his arms once more. “Sleep well.” He murmurs, stroking my back as I become dozy. 

There’s something about him being there next to me, it makes me fall asleep literally within minutes. Not that I’ve ever had trouble sleeping in the past, but his presence is something very soothing. Considering for the most part he’s six foot five inches of moody vampire, that’s quite a feat really. Also, because he doesn’t move or breathe, I’m not subjected to any snoring or fidgeting around next to me as I sleep. Everything down here in the bowels of the building is silent and conducive to a very restful sleep. 

I wake feeling refreshed at midday, gathering my belongings and using the spare key behind the bar to let myself up and lock up behind me, the bright sun hitting my arms and warming them nicely as I walk across the parking lot to my car and click the locks open. 

I always wanted an Alfa Romeo, so last year I decided to spoil myself and trade in my old BMW for the 147 twin spark model in candy apple red. I love it. It’s not as fast as Eric’s Jag (a brand new XK8, apparently he’s never kept a car for longer than twelve months either) but it’s fast enough with its 2.0 litre engine, and gets me where I need to go rapidly enough. Right now, that place is to grab some nice, Cajun takeout before heading home to eat and work.

From here on in I slip nicely back into my usual routine, visiting Lafayette later on in the evening before getting a rare early night, my Monday morning beginning early, driving around to drop off accounts with my customers. I manage to fit in meeting Dmitri for lunch, heading home at 2pm to work until midnight, take a long bath and then gratefully climb into bed. 

Even though it is nice to have my bed all to myself, I have to say I do miss that big, blonde dead fella that shares it with me sometimes. However - and definitely going back on his 'two nights a week’ idea - come 4am in the early hours of Wednesday morning, I miss him no longer.

“So, what can I do for you?” I question after he’s flown in through my open window, stripped naked and climbed into bed with me, curling around my body and kissing my shoulder. 

“Nothing, beautiful. Just go back to sleep.” Yes, I think I will. 


End file.
